Chrysalis
by TheWeasleyBoys
Summary: An unexpected surprise might destroy everything Amber Sweet ever wanted…or might it bring her the one thing she's always needed? Gramber and Ensemble -CHAPTER 23 UP!-
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own diddly-squat when it comes to 'Repo! The Genetic Opera'. You heard it here first.

**Author's note:** I'm a newbie fan and a first-time Repo fic writer. This idea came to me in a parking lot during work hours, and refused to leave me alone until I started writing it out. If any edits need to be made regarding canon events, character personalities, and overall continuity; please don't hesitate to let me know. :)

Chrysalis

Chapter 1—The Unraveling

It is said that if a single thread within a tapestry is allowed to remain loose, the entire work of art is in danger of coming undone. Not only could it catch on a nail, a splinter, or other sharp object; but if one were to pull on the thread hard enough, it could cause equal damage to the piece. A similar thing might also be said about the thread itself: because it is so light and thin, it will break easily once enough strength is applied to both ends. And in order to survive in a harsh world like that within Sanitarium Square, those in need of survival could not ignore any important factors when their lives were at stake; nor allow any potential threat to go about unnoticed.

In the wake of Rottissimo Largo's death and the two 'accidental deaths' plaguing the Opera with controversy, Amber Sweet once thought all her troubles had come to an end. Outside of the headlines and the news reports, three things were clear in her mind: her father was no longer present to insult her genetics; Shilo Wallace had refused inheriting GeneCo; and thanks to these current events, Amber herself now had the family business and imminent fame right in the palm of her hand. No one would laugh her into running away because she was the woman in charge, and being in charge would bring her much more respect than life as a scalpel slut ever could. Every news station on the island would fight each other to interview her, her perfect face would be on the cover of every magazine and newspaper page, and most of all, instead of being degraded for her long list of stupid things, she'd be recognized for finally doing something worthwhile.

However, after a mere two days, she learned the hard way that her new job wasn't just a comfy desk chair and a golden name plate upon the door. Her new e-mail account contained a long list of messages about GeneCo's daily operations—which clients had made their payments early, which had paid in the nick of time, who had failed to come through and who paid for it with their lives; the amount of money received this month and whether or not it was an improvement from last month; the dates and locations of various board meetings; who had been hired for a new position and who had been fired for failing in their old one, and so on.

Moreover, a lot of scribbled notes came daily from the levels below her office—the elevator had broken down and the stairs would have to be used in the meantime; Mr. So-And-So had fallen ill with a cold and gone home for the day; Miss Whomever had just finished her reports and would have them sent out by tomorrow; even some bit about Joey in tech support had put in his two weeks' notice, because Mom and Dad talked him into working at their little office down the street.

Thirdly, neither Pavi nor Luigi seemed to care about her workload, because they just couldn't shut up about all the things they didn't like when it came to her style of 'management'. Either she took-a too long to answer the phone; or that man _didn't_ look me in the eye when he said good morning; or she should-a stop cutting the Genterns' break-a times because I have-a _nothing_ to do all day, since _when_ did I have to take out my own trash; you were a lot-a more fun before-a you hit the big time; complain complain complain; blah blah _blah_. Shouting matches, squeezed groins, ego trips, exposed scars, and slamming doors were the order of the day back home, for neither one of her older brothers bothered to see things from her point of view, nor did they care.

And if she hadn't dealt with enough trials and tribulations already, one more still managed to worm its way into the midst of her busy schedule. Approximately six days after assuming command, she woke up to find a few spots of blood on her underwear, and assumed that it might be time for her period. A small pad was enough to take care of that problem; yet when she came home from work later that day, she discovered that the bleeding had mysteriously stopped.

_It's the stress_, she thought, flopping down onto the couch to try and relax. _Once I get a little quiet time, my cycle will be back to normal._

By the next afternoon, she was hard at work again minding the office, tending to paperwork, answering e-mails, and taking care of just about every task on her to-do list. Focus meant progress, after all, and the more she paid attention, the more she could finish. At the same time, dealing with the constant flow of activity was tiring, and she found herself going straight to bed after sunset instead of to the alleys for her latest Zydrate fix. She would have to wait to start indulging in surgery again, because times of transition were always the hardest and she couldn't afford to let anything slide. She'd managed to get through a few nights without it already, despite the rising and falling of her temperature and the stinging feeling in her skin. If she could pull it off that well now, she would most likely be just as well later on, if not better. And once again, she assured herself that the odd workings of her body were only temporary. When everything was back to normal in her late father's establishment; she, too, could get back to business as usual.

It wasn't until another week had come and gone that things finally took a turn for the worst. She had gone to her private break room and settled down in a comfortable chair; then had almost started in on a meal of roast duck and olives when suddenly, her stomach lurched in protest, forcing her to run to the nearest restroom. One minute later, she saw the remains of her breakfast spill into the first toilet she came to, her mind reeling with the onslaught of nausea.

By that time, a few nosy Genterns and some other people in black suits had gathered in the hallway, whispering curiously behind their hands and giving her odd looks when she finally pushed her way through the door. Not wanting to be the start of the latest water cooler gossip, she ordered them all to get back to work before scribbling a note and handing it to the secretary, insisting that she would spend the rest of the day at home to get over a stomach bug. From there, it was straight to the main hallway, the elevator, and after a long ride to the ground floor, the parking lot where she could call the first available limo driver and not have anyone stare at her or start asking questions.

In her haste to get that person on the line, her fingers slipped on the phone's buttons, making her cancel the call and dial the right set of numbers for a new one. She kept telling herself that there was no need to panic, that the lack of the glow was screwing with her biology, yet her sliver of a conscience wouldn't stop rebelling against her thoughts. Some tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her of just how far she'd gone for that shot of Zydrate not so long ago. Her desperation to feel no pain put her at the mercy of that pale man in the alley, and even though he'd tried to walk away, she had been the one to insist that he take exactly what she offered as payment, and then some. How was it that she hadn't chosen the safer route, and resisted her addiction until she could return with the right sort of money? Why had she been so eager to feel him against her and inside her, even if only as a trade for the drug she desired? What was it about that dealer that got her so worked up in the first place? And most of all, was there a possibility that her strange health had something to do with their little meeting…?

Her answer came not long after she'd slipped into the safety of the back seat, strapped herself in, and opened her purse to tuck the cell phone back inside it. One hand happened to nudge her latest box of birth control pills, something her father had insisted on the day he caught her kissing a stranger at the Charity Ball of 2046. When she pulled the box out and prepared to stick it in a different pocket, she felt her insides instantly turn to ice. The flaps had not been opened.

_Oh, no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no…_

Amber's mind and heart started racing at the same time, and right after she'd shoved the box back into her purse, she ordered the driver to get her to the nearest drugstore for some stomach medicine. She was out of the car and through the automatic doors in a heartbeat, ignoring the curious stares and whispers of the other customers in a frantic search for the right aisle. Once she'd come to the shelf where the pregnancy tests were kept, she turned right around, dropped a one-hundred-dollar bill in front of the cashier, and ran straight back into the limo so that she'd be on her way home before the common folk started gossiping.

There was no telling how long it took for her to get home that day, because it was as though all her thoughts had been suspended until the moment she walked through the mansion doors. Afterwards, she swayed dangerously between panic and fury, shoving a maid and at least two other members of the household staff out of her way so that she could reach the bathroom in peace. Next, when she had locked the door behind her, she read the instructions on the box; took out the home pregnancy test; and followed those instructions to the letter, all while praying to whomever was listening that it all turned out to be a false alarm.

Some time later, after she had turned away and counted down the minutes under her breath, she inhaled slowly and dared to turn back for the results. What she saw felt like an invisible punch to her stomach, for the wind was suddenly knocked out of her. Instead of just one line, there were two, a double symbol of proof that not even she could deny. Amber Sweet was pregnant. Her selfish need for Zydrate had been the cause, and if she valued her sanity, she would now have to avoid that drug until an abortion could be arranged. So, also, would she have to avoid the truth of how this child came to exist—if the public knew of her addiction and its link to GeneCo's endless supply of corpses, the entire company might have its purpose questioned, let alone her own reputation. For those reasons, once she'd done her best to swallow her tears and get a grip on her emotions, she threw the test away and then, after pulling the door open, prepared to head upstairs.

Unfortunately, someone had already witnessed her distress, and that somebody retreated back into the shadows long before she noticed they were there.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2—The Pale Man

"Our heroes will never be forgotten. GeneCo will survive under new management…me."

_Meet the new boss, same as the old boss…_

Two weeks in power, and so far, not much had changed when it came to running the 'family business'. People still flocked in from miles around to visit those surgery tents, desperate for new hearts, livers, bones, or any other biological transplant to make themselves perfect inside and outside. The Repo Men still did what they did best; sneaking up on clients who didn't start their payments, taking back company property, and watching those clients die in the process. The grave robbers still took their shares of the spoils, visiting old and new graves alike and extracting as much Zydrate as they could sell every night. And as always, the person in charge oversaw it all, sitting safe in their little office seat and remaining untouched by the problems of the common man.

The only difference was, that person in charge had now locked themselves into their stable little world, and had neither been seen nor heard from in the vast network of alleys that defined Sanitarium Square's underbelly. No familiar voice beckoned seductively from around the corner, no pair of high heels clicked rhythmically upon the cold pavement, and no sight of black leather glistened faintly in the lamplight. Change had come to GeneCo, and Miss Sweet had most likely changed right along with it. She would probably be bogged down in a board presentation somewhere, her mind more focused on this month's revenue collection than it would be on getting her nightly fix. Maybe she even took the old man's advice for once, and started checking out those Support Network meetings to clean her image up even more.

_Image?_

Every time she went under the knife, she'd always insist those SurGENs go for the face first. All the better for her to forget the one she had before her latest operation. Now it would be impossible for anyone to forget what she looked like, because they saw her just about anywhere and everywhere they turned these days. Her, and that pair of smiling maniacs trailing along behind her like stray dogs after the butcher. If they were really good, maybe she'd toss them a ham bone. It was all an act, of course. Once the cameras stopped rolling, the weepy one would go back to being loud and abusive; the touchy-feely one would go back to hiding behind dead women's faces, and if he got _really_ imaginative, she'd start getting her Zydrate from some licensed physician and forget he ever existed. _Whatever_. At least she'd be happy. If this was the life the bitch always wanted, why should some lowly 'Z dealer like him complain? He had problems of his own to deal with.

The biggest problem was living to see another sunset, and with his face displayed on most of the GeneCops' wanted posters, he had to face that problem almost every night. The three deaths at the Opera had taken their toll on his own line of work, for not only had there been a maximum security funeral, but someone also didn't want him disturbing those bodies in question. They'd called out a double line of GeneCops to watch the place from sundown to sunrise, which in turn prevented him from getting no more than six or seven doses of Zydrate every night. With only a handful of the glow to sell off instead of an entire bag's worth, he'd gone from having three meals every night to a few sandwiches and a bowl of watery soup. And with a lower amount of food and a higher amount of adrenaline to keep him going, it had become almost too difficult to keep it together until morning came. Tonight was one of those nights.

He'd first taken the precaution to enter through the sewer system and not try climbing over the main gate. Not only did that keep any grass or fallen branches undisturbed; it also made the sound of a moving manhole cover appear equal to wheels screeching over pavement or rocks scraping against stone. No GeneCops sounded the alarm because of this easy assumption, and Graverobber took that as a sign to press on.

Next came forcing open the lid of the nearest sarcophagus and pushing it aside, a thing that took him a little more time because of his decreased amount of energy. It was good that the lid didn't suddenly fall to the ground, because then he'd probably end up joining the body inside. Ah well…first things first. He took a syringe from his old canvas bag, thrust it up the corpse's nose, and pressed down the handle; then saw the familiar blue light start to glisten as the needle took its share of the dead fluid.

_That's one._

A slightly smaller coffin came afterwards, but its occupant carried just as much Zydrate as the one who came before.

_Two._

Some old guy who called the graveyard home for ten years.

_Three._

He moved on to the next coffin as quiet as he could, but not without a pang of hunger attacking him first. The fourth needle in his hand began to slip as he fought to stay focused.

_No. No, you're not done here yet. Keep moving._

The next body had decayed so much, there was barely anything left behind besides a skeleton and a few strands of hair. This deserved a small X marked on one side with plain chalk, along with the choice words he muttered under his breath. Once Graverobber got a look at the mausoleum behind it, however, he felt his bad luck start to change.

_Finally!_

One snap of the lock on the door, and those tombs were his to toy with. A whopping six people had chosen the building as their final resting place, which amounted to a good six doses of 'Z resting in his rucksack. If he got really daring, he might send an anonymous note to this family's next of kin and thank them for their 'contributions'.

_And that's nine…so far, so good!_

A few steps back outside and one closed door later, he thought he might make it out with a full bag this time. The damned alarm remained silent, and all those guards right along with it. Moreover, he now stood facing a family plot and what would amount to another handful of the glow. How much would he have then? Thirteen vials? Fourteen? Only one way to find out. He bent low to the ground and crept forward, his spirit rising at the chance of a long-awaited break.

One moment later, the whole graveyard was spinning, and the half-full bag he carried slipped out of his hands, shattering loudly on the concrete.

"_Damnit_!"

In an instant, voices started shouting, gloved hands turned on the searchlights, and those lights landed on his face before he could blink. Five seconds afterwards, all was chaos.

"Grave robbers on the premises! I repeat—grave robbers on the premises!"

_Oh no, ya think?!_

Leaving his busted collection behind, Graverobber ran straight for the manhole cover that led to his exit route. It took a total of three seconds to push the rusted metal disc to one side, two seconds to climb onto the ladder, and six more seconds to go halfway before sliding the lid back into place. He didn't hang around to see how long the GeneCops took to follow him, for he valued his life too much to fool around.

It was a short climb down the ladder and into the tunnels, which spread out before him in a vast underground labyrinth. The one in the center carried the symbol of a white skull at its entrance, and because he was in danger enough, he trusted that symbol to lead him to safety just as it had done for the friends that worked elsewhere.

He followed that path until it turned sharply to the right, and from there, it was straight, left, straight, and right again; moving directly to the southern side of the island. Here rested a large metal grill that drained out into a concrete ditch, and beyond it, open ocean. He stopped there for a moment to catch his breath, taking a little time to listen around the tunnel as well. So far, there was neither the sound of combat boots running to meet him nor the flare of search lights trying to find his shadow. No cops catching up to him…yet. As much as he liked this idea, Graverobber still had to stay one step ahead of them if he wanted to see another moon rise. Lucky he hadn't dropped his crowbar in the rush to escape the graveyard.

_Clang_.

The metal grill fell onto the hard ground a short time after he'd pushed the crowbar under its rim, allowing him to walk safely out of the tunnel. It had been a while since he'd seen the dark water last, yet its wet, white spray and salty smell didn't hesitate to welcome him back like an old friend. Just beyond the reach of the drainage ditch, there were the faint red and green lights of ships braving the waters in the darkness. The neon lights of a neighboring island shone a bit brighter against the black sky, promising him a temporary rest stop if he managed to swim his way there and not drown in the process. Finally, there were the street lamps marking the outline of the coasts, possibly also lighting his way to another tunnel waiting towards the northwest. The options to avoid detection were now very narrow—go the long, wet way or the long, dry way. Which of them would take him the least amount of time, and which would also cause him the least amount of physical pain…?

Suddenly, someone on one of those ships turned on their own searchlight, making the darn thing shine right into his eyes. His first instinct was to take the dry path out after all, because maybe the GeneCops finally had him where they wanted him. However, before he could make his next move, a much smaller flashlight flickered three times beside it.

_The signal?! It's about time!_

The dizzy feeling struck a second time, yet it was no match for the joy of catching up with old friends. He'd jumped into the water and began swimming in the direction of the lights before it got the best of him. After a short distance and a few deep breaths, his attention was rewarded once two pairs of hands hauled him onto the deck.

"Is this what I think it is?" he mumbled, feeling planks of rough, uneven wood beneath his fingers. "Who...?"

"Your worst nightmare, man," a familiar voice chuckled. "Sorry, Mr. Robber, but you fail at selling Zydrate. We're now selling all your organs on the black market to make up for the money you lost."

Graverobber thrust one fist into the air on his left; then heard the crack of it connecting with that familiar person's nose.

"_Yeowch_!"

A large, dark blur fell backwards into the light, revealing a swarthy, black-haired man in a pair of faded blue jeans, a dirt-stained undershirt, and a frayed gray overcoat.

"Over my dead body, Steve," the pale man laughed. "How long have you been waiting here?"

"About five minutes or less."

With one hand pinching his nose shut, Steve clapped the other against his best friend's shoulder.

"You're lucky the GeneCops didn't shoot you, bud! You might have been D.O.A. the moment we pulled you on board!"

"Like I _didn't_ learn that the hard way?"

The shadowy figure at his right moved closer to help him sit up, and Graverobber was graced with the sight of Norm, a scrawny younger man with brown eyes and dirty-blond hair. His own pair of jeans was just about as worn out as Steve's, but with a green flannel shirt over an old yellow turtleneck.

"What, you mean they did use you for target practice? Do you need any help? What—"

"—It's fine, Norm, I got away before they had the chance. See?" He raised both arms to prove it. "No problem."

"Is everything okay out there…?"

A third familiar voice, only this one was younger, more nervous, and definitely _not_ a guy.

"Oh, yeah," said Steve, turning towards a cracked door. "It's safe to come out now, Miss Wallace. We got him."

A few faint steps sounded upon the wood, and out came that kid he'd met in the graveyard—pale, cautious, and almost entirely bald save for some fuzz at the top of her head. Had he been imagining it, or didn't she have a full head of hair to begin with…?

"H-here's some food for you," she mumbled, walking over to hand him a bowl of beef stew and a few slices of Texas toast. "Norm said you'd be hungry."

Oh, well. Hair or no hair, he was still glad to be surrounded by friends at a time like this.

"Thanks, kid. It's good to be back."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: The Powder Keg

Two weeks and three days without Dad glaring over his shoulder, and not much had changed where Luigi Largo was concerned.

One tyrant ruling over the rest of the household had merely given way to another; only instead of razor-sharp verbal abuse skills and iron-clad authority, this one could fight just as dirty with the influences of PMS and almost thirty years of living with _him_. He'd been ordered to follow her to every stockholder's meeting, dinner party, and other public functions like some overgrown house pet, only to be threatened with solitude and no meals if he attempted to refuse. And although he tried his best to demand respect and overwhelm her into submission, the little slut just wasn't going to give up anytime soon.

Even now, she'd insisted on dragging him and her entourage to the nearest doctor, no doubt planning to schedule her next hack job. The SurGENs would have a field day with her before the day was out. Too bad he couldn't force himself to feel the same way.

The walls of the waiting room clashed horribly with the carpet; a bright shade of yellow pitted against a darker shade of violet. This was the first of his problems, for the terrible arrangement stung his eyes every time he dared to look up.

The view through the window didn't help his mood either, for a rainstorm had blown in before noon and was busy lashing its waterworks against the glass panes.

Thirdly, it was as though the office staff had teamed up against him. Half of the posters on all four walls had been issued by GeneCo, and they silently taunted him with their various messages.

"Is your child addicted to Zydrate? We can help!"

"Do you have what it takes to be an Organ Repo Man?"

"Support Bill 98-463 and keep Organ Repossession Legal. It's good for all of us!"

And if that wasn't enough to keep him in a permanent state of sourness, the man sitting at his left certainly was—the snickering, self-absorbed, infuriating little asshole who'd whined at him to destroy a few bidders at the most recent charity auction; then didn't even bother to thank him after he'd won their sister's discarded face. While he sat in discontented silence, 'The Pavi' kept his female admirers happy by bragging all about how 'Amber was-a close to having a nervous-a breakdown'.

Maybe he'd end up following her there, too, considering all the factors that amounted to one big, lousy fucking mess.

Fifty percent of his brain despised the world around him not just for failing to hand over the inheritance he was sure he deserved; but also for the fact that his own father had picked some total stranger over his firstborn son.

Forty percent of what was left had just about enough of his brother's and sister's endless shenanigans, because they almost always had to get him in his most sensitive areas and brag about it afterwards.

The remaining ten percent wondered just how different things might get with the geezer gone, as well as if they might ever fight less and start hanging out more.

Unfortunately, with the ninety percent of anger and frustration he carried around these days, that ten percent had a snowball's chance in hell of ever influencing his words or actions. And with Pavi yammering endlessly to the pair of GENterns draped around him, breaking the little bastard's nose seemed a lot more fun than talking things through would ever be. He might have done it, too, if it wasn't for the steady stream of medical staff popping in and out of their offices in the back.

"It won't-a be long now," Pavi was whispering, sitting up proudly and letting the GENterns play with his hair. "One-a more push, and then we'll-a have her! Won't that be fun?"

The blonde in his left arm giggled annoyingly while the brunette in his right sighed in admiration.

"Oh, Pavi, are you sure?" she said breathlessly. "You've really got her where you want her?"

"Oh, _yes_. I saw Sister getting sick in the bathroom," he bragged out loud, milking the moment for all it was worth. "She doesn't like-a all the stress. Maybe it's-a time she lets someone _else_-a take over…?"

***

"Three days ago, you say?"

Dr. Abram Johnson had heard at least a thousand surgery-related conversations in his day, and they had ranged from one sick person begging him for new kidneys to one supermodel insisting on a total organ replacement procedure to look perfect on the inside as well as the outside. He'd also heard quite a few pleas from women who couldn't have children, couldn't physically handle carrying a child, or couldn't handle the stress of raising one on their own.

Up until now, he'd never heard such a thing from the daughter of the man who'd once been the head of everything, and neither had he ever expected to. As rough around the edges as some reports claimed they were, the Largo household seemed to have it all together when it came to responsibility.

Once the girl came stomping through the door with a positive EPT in her hand, that responsible image went right out the window along with his relaxed nerves. This was going to be a very interesting appointment.

"You heard me the first time," Amber hissed, her hands balled up into fists. "I didn't feel well, I took the rest of the day off from work, and I got _this_! I'm pregnant. I forgot my morning-after pill this one time, and I'm _pregnant_!"

"Does your family know about—"

"—_No_, and I'm gonna keep it that way! I got a job and a rep to look after. How fast can I get this problem under control?"

He didn't have to look too long at the female guards to understand the meaning of 'fast'. If they could put a bullet in his brain in under five seconds, he'd have to figure something out just as quickly.

"Miss Sweet, I—I'm afraid there's something else we have to discuss first—"

"—_What_?!"

Dr. Johnson took a quick breath inward; then steeled himself for her reaction.

"Firstly…I'll have to take an ultrasound to make sure this, ah…problem isn't an ectopic one."

"Ectopic meaning what?"

"Meaning that the fertilized egg hasn't attached to something else other than the uterus. If it has, then we'll have to start discussing either methotrexate or special surgery to repair the fallopian tubes."

Amber visualized herself lying on the operating table, only instead of having something surgically put in; she was having something taken out. That image changed one second later to her going straight back to Graverobber, robotically handing him a fistful of credits in exchange for more Zydrate. There was an odd, pained expression on both of their faces during that moment; a future she didn't want to explore anytime soon.

"Okay, so I get myself fixed up and then it's back to business as usual?" she demanded, her nails digging into her palms. "What happens if the egg thing is in the normal place?"

"Then there would be a few medical and surgical procedures to consider. The first is methotrexate and misoprostol, two medications to help expel the fetus. These can be used up through the first seven weeks. Second, there is mifepristone and misoprostol, otherwise known as RU-486. These also can be used to expel the fetus, and are recommended up to the ninth week."

"_Now_ you're getting somewhere! What about surgery?"

"For the first twelve weeks, there's a procedure called vacuum aspiration. That will involve inserting a suction device into the uterus to remove the fetus and placenta."

"What are the side effects?"

The doctor barely pressed on without noticing the dark looks on the bodyguards' faces.

"For the medical route, the side effects could range from fever, nausea, and vomiting to cramping, diarrhea, heavy bleeding, and infection. Each option is also unsuccessful about 10% of the time, which would mean a surgical abortion procedure might be necessary to complete the process. For the surgical route, the common side effects might be feeling faint, nausea, sweating, or cramping. There might also be the chance of blood clots, heavy bleeding, and damage to either the uterus or the cervix; not to mention problems resulting from infection, such as scar tissue, fever, or abdominal tenderness."

Amber committed each new detail to memory as quickly as she could; yet her heart rate refused to slow down and her mind still raced from the shock of her discovery. It wasn't like before when she could go into a surgery tent, change whatever she didn't like about herself, get stitched up by a SurGEN, and finally receive an approval to go back home. Her list of options was a lot larger than she had expected, and with these options came consequences that might affect her health.

"Okay, so what happens after I go in for one of these procedures? Do I just get the kid out of me and that's it?"

"Ac-Actually Miss Sweet, you could either stay in the clinic for a few hours after surgery, or else have a follow-up exam two weeks after receiving the medication. You'll also receive a prescription for Zydrate to help treat any—"

"—_No_!"

If this asshole thought he was helping her, he was sorely mistaken.

"_Have you lost your fucking mind?! _You're telling me to take Zydrate _again_? Now? What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you _want_ me to lose everything?!"

"N-n-no, Miss Sweet!" Dr. Johnson stammered, backing away from her bodyguards. "It-It's my job to let you know your op-options!"

"Well, your 'options' are full of shit!" Amber spat, feeling her eyes start to water. "You just couldn't give me a break, could you? No one _ever_ gives me a break!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Sweet, I—I didn't mean for this information to upset you—"

"—Yeah? Well guess what, it _did_!"

"Are you sure you can't speak to your family about this?"

Did he even have to mention them? She'd already figured out their responses without asking any questions. First, Luigi wouldn't want some fucking peasant's brat in his house, and he'd insist she get rid of it on the spot. That would just be if he were in a somewhat foul mood. If he were in a really terrible mood, he might get angry enough to cut it out of her himself, because that was how he solved a lot of his own problems.

Second, she doubted Pavi would be much help to her either, no thanks to his most recent obsession. He'd followed a lot of incestuous relationships on television with wide eyes and bowls of plain popcorn. He'd also begged her and Luigi to act like one of those couples in _every_ sense of the word; because that was one of the few things he deemed true entertainment. Once he found out that she hadn't indulged his twisted imagination, he'd want her little mistake to get taken care of. Permanently.

Third, if Daddy hadn't died, he would have taken care of everything. Literally. Graverobber would be found lying dead in a ditch, his body riddled with bullets. She would be driven straight to the nearest clinic in the middle of the night; then taken home once the abortion was done. And finally, any information leaked to the media would be explained away as a minor medical ailment. It would be the perfect arrangement for the Largo family, but not so perfect for her.

"I already told you I can't," she snapped, her knees buckling from underneath. "They want me to look bad; they'd love it if I messed up…"

"Is there no one else? Not even the baby's father?"

If there hadn't been so many complications with asking this doctor for an abortion, Amber would have avoided the question entirely. If Zydrate hadn't been brought up as part of her treatment, she would have taken care of business without a hitch. And if any other man besides Graverobber had been the father, she would have started the conversation with some other feeling besides disgust.

But just like every other time she tried leaving him behind, somehow her bad fortune found a way to remind her of him. And once she got those reminders, she'd always end up running back to that alley where he waited for her, that smirk on his face and that vial in his hand. She could only imagine what he'd say about her situation, let alone whether or not he'd laugh in her face first.

"I don't know," she rasped, hiding her face in her hands. "We haven't spoken since—since my father died…"

"Yes, well…"

The pair of armed women looked slightly calmer than before; a sight that barely helped Dr. Johnson to relax after so much stress.

"…Perhaps a better decision c-could be made after talking it over with him? S-so you don't have to think everything through by yourself, I mean!" he added quickly, noticing how she'd almost reached up to strangle him.

"And-and if he's nowhere to be found, there's a set of crisis care numbers I can pass on to you, all right? No one should ever have to go through this alone. There will be someone out there who will help you, I promise."

"Okay, I'll go talk to the dad," Amber snarled, pulling a sleeve across her eyes. "But for your sake, you better as hell hope nothing goes wrong!"

_And for my sake, too_, she thought, watching the doctor fumble his way through half a dozen apologies and don't-hesitate-to-call's. If she came across the sleazebag again—and if he quit smirking enough to help her figure things out—she'd pay Johnson extra when her bill arrived in the mail.

If he'd vanished into thin air, however, she'd just have to take matters into her own hands; call the first crisis hotline she came across, and hope it would all turn out for the best. She'd gained too much of a future to throw it all away now.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Life Aboard the Jolly Roger

After two weeks of fending for himself, Graverobber was glad to get a little help out of the blue.

That first serving of toast and stew had disappeared within minutes, and Steve had been all too happy to give him seconds and thirds until he was sure he couldn't eat any more. In turn, the dizzy spells vanished after he'd had his last spoonful, which made standing up, sitting down, and walking around the deck a lot easier. Thirdly, when he had changed into some drier clothes and gone below decks for a nap, he woke up refreshed and relieved after two hours of sound sleep. And finally, after borrowing a set of binoculars from Norm, he saw that not a single GeneCop was patrolling the area in search of where he'd gone. His health seemed to be in the right place again, for he felt ten times better than before under the watch of his old associates. For this reason, he asked Steve to steer the ship back towards the southern harbor, hoping he might pick up where he had originally left off.

What he didn't count on was being told to stay put instead.

"You think I'm just gonna let you skip back to the graveyard after what just happened?" Steve scoffed, tending to his hurt nose with an ice pack. "I'm crazy, man, but I'm not _that_ crazy. I'd rather ya got your strength up a bit more before playing tag with those police again, thank you very much!"

"Let's think about this first," Norm said after hearing the same question. "First, there are at least twenty-four of them against one of you. Second, they've got loaded guns, and yours is empty. Third, I'm sure they'd just love to see _you_ again after seeing your face on all those wanted posters. And four, even though we don't leave fingerprints behind, they're still gonna wonder just who tried smuggling all those vials back into the sewer. You got a death wish or what?"

Even Shilo had her own opinion of him running off, and she didn't hesitate to let him hear it.

"They're right, you know. You shouldn't leave just yet. You might still be tired, or you might also get hungry again later on. It's no fun passing out in front of the police, believe me! And what if they _want_ you to come back and get your vials? You'd be walking right into a trap, wouldn't you?"

"Is it just me, or did all of you plan on driving me crazy?" Graverobber sighed, faking a headache.

"Your call," said Steve, shrugging a little. "Go insane and stay alive, or stay sane and run off to die. Pick a winner."

As much as he would have loved the peace and quiet that came with being alone, he couldn't help valuing his life just a little bit more. It had been at least a few weeks since he'd seen Shilo last, and a lot more time had passed since the last time he'd talked to either Steve or Norm. For these reasons, he didn't let any more time pass in making a decision. The boat was the best bet, at least until the heat died down.

And so, for the remainder of that night plus two days, the ragtag group of three grave robbers and one orphan became temporary housemates. All four slept during the mornings and afternoons when the rest of the island was awake; while after sunset, they spent much of their time on the decks. It was during this time that Shilo started asking questions of the men who had brought her on board, hoping she could get to know them better just in case she had to stay with them for a while.

"You three seem to get along really well," she began, watching each of them go about their evening routines. "How did you meet each other?"

"There's a funeral home on the upper West Side," Norm said, filling up a trash barrel with old candy wrappers, chip bags, and outdated newspapers. "It's been run by this mortician lady as far back as I can remember. One day about twelve, thirteen years ago, I'm out riding my bike, and I look up and see this tall, pasty person staring out of the window. At first I thought I was looking at a ghost, but then I saw them look down at me and wave a hand in front of their eyes. That was Grim's way of telling me to snap out of it, come inside, and introduce myself."

"Grim…? Is—is that his real name?"

"Nickname is more like it," said Graverobber. "I can't say I ever had a real name, so the Mortician had to fill in the blanks. One day she started calling me Grim, and the word just stuck after a while."

"Grim as in, 'The Grim Reaper'?"

"No, Grim as in 'You always look depressed'," Steve joked, reaching over to poke Graverobber's face. "Get a load of that frown!"

"Poke me again and we'll see who frowns _next_ time…"

"What about you, Steve? How did you end up finding him?"

"Glad you asked, Miss Wallace."

Steve had been busy painting the words 'Jolly Roger' on one side of the ship; yet he was able to set the brush down for a few minutes.

"Some time after Norm came along; I was sitting down to read in my room one night. No pranks, no jokes, just some normal quiet time. Suddenly, a bunch of local boys showed up at my door, and at least three of them told me they saw a vampire wandering around the graveyard. I didn't believe 'em, of course, since they only existed in books and movies and I didn't want to be tricked. The more those boys talked about it, though, the more I felt like I had to see for myself."

"What did you do then?"

"I did what any other person would do—go get some holy water from the nearest church, borrow a pointy-ended fencepost, and pray the bastard wasn't thirsty. Anyways, after about half an hour or so, we all showed up at the gate, and the boys insisted I went in first thanks to all the tools I had at the ready. Unfortunately, the moment I walked in was the same moment the rest of them all ran off."

"And then you saw me sitting on a headstone, and you didn't know whether to throw the water at my head or stab me with the stake," Graverobber laughed. "Lucky for you, I didn't have any fangs to worry about."

Shilo laughed along with the three men; but not before imagining a pale, young creature trying to sink his teeth into her throat. It was a good thing some stories never came true, because her life was complicated enough without them.

"So this graveyard's also in the west part of the island? Did you live there with your families?"

"Our adoptive ones, yeah," Norm said, setting the trash on fire with a cigarette lighter.

"What do you mean by 'adoptive'? What happened?"

"Neuropox."

"The what?"

"The neuropox happened is what. It's a disease kinda like smallpox, only it can do permanent damage to a person's brain as well as their skin. The old organ chop shop had a field day cleaning up that mess—thanks to that little health crisis, brain sales jumped a good ten percent at least. That was about the time all three of us got dropped off at the orphans' hospital on the lower West Side."

"I remember that day," Steve said, taking a long swig of beer. "Mom was already gone the moment after we squeezed into Dad's truck. He didn't want to believe it, though. He kept sayin' we'd all get fixed once he got us to the nearest emergency room. Two hours later, the old man choked on his own blood, and boom—instant Little Orphan Stevie."

"How did you all survive?"

"Simple. We got put under observation for a good twenty-four hours, and after that, they kept us in a sterile environment. Any symptoms we showed were either knocked out by antibiotics, or…"

He lifted up a handful of hair to reveal a thin, white scar extending across his forehead.

"At least two fishermen in my neighborhood pitched in on the payments. They'd heard a bunch of horror stories about those who didn't pay up, and they weren't about to let me be the next victim."

Shilo felt a chill in the air right after seeing the scar, and could not keep herself from shivering when she also noticed the scarring on Graverobber's face and Norm's hands. All three of these men were survivors by some twist of fortune. If none of them had made it out alive, she might still be wandering the streets in search of outside help. There was no comfort or happiness in that thought.

"Enough about us, Steve," said Grim, speaking up after a short period of silence. "What about you, Wallace? How did you end up with these two roughnecks?"

"Actually, it's Shilo. Shilo Wallace."

"Got it." He motioned for her to continue. "Okay, so what happened to you? Tell me everything."

"Well, I—I didn't know if anyone was looking for me or if they thought I just vanished, so—so I ran for a little while until I got a stitch in my side. I guess that's what happens when a person's never had to exercise before."

She gulped down the lump that threatened to keep her from speaking; then pressed on.

"After that, I walked down a few streets, I took a few turns, and I followed who knows how many sidewalks until I knew I couldn't walk or run for much longer. I started noticing some people looking at me strangely, and I got scared that someone wanted me caught, or worse—dead. That was when I saw a garbage truck coming my way, and once it got close enough, I climbed onto the back and went for a ride."

"My kind of girl," Norm whispered to Steve, looking very impressed.

"Where did you go then?" Graverobber asked.

"Home."

"Home?"

"Yeah. It was the only place I could think of. Only three people ever saw me there, and all of them were—"

She deliberately stopped herself from saying the word 'dead'.

"—They were unable to tell anybody else, anybody bad or angry or—or out for revenge. I went straight back to my room, I closed the door, and I hid in bed behind my plastic curtains."

"How long did you stay there?"

"Three days."

"_Three_ days?" Steve rudely burst into laughter. "You spent three whole days just lying in bed staring at the wall? How the hell—"

"—I shivered, I threw up into the toilet, and I passed out at least twice! Happy now?!"

Steve's unwelcome commentary ceased on the spot, and with it, all three grave robbers stared at Shilo in silence. Her small fists were white from gripping the table, her jaw was set, and her brown eyes had begun to water.

"I didn't ask for any of this, do you hear me? I didn't ask to be drugged all the time, lied to, locked away, stalked, or manipulated! I'm not some prize to be won! I'm not some weapon for one person to use against another! I won't—I won't—"

"—I think we've done enough talking for one day," Graverobber said loudly, moving fast to help Shilo out of her chair. "How about some television?"

"We'll follow you," Norm agreed, motioning for Steve to stay back until the others had made it below decks. Graverobber helped Shilo get straight to the couch before hitting the switch to the secondhand HD set. A few seconds more, and he'd found the last ten minutes of some romance movie where the guy was about to tell the girl how much he couldn't live without her.

_Excellent!_

Even though he would have liked to watch some sports instead, at least this seemed to calm Shilo down a bit. Anything to keep the kid from bursting into tears. She'd had too much of that outside of the ship without needing it to follow her inside, thank you very much. He checked her over once more; then dropped into an old recliner and pretended to tilt himself back for a nap. If she had any more problems later on, he'd be the first to hear about them.

Some time later, Steve and Norm reached the bottom of the staircase, debating amongst themselves whether to join the others or go to their cabins and read for a while. Shilo had discovered the channel changer hidden between two of the couch cushions, and was now amusing herself by flipping through the various programs in order to choose one at random. As for Graverobber, he kept still and silent until the kid finally decided on an episode of 'Vanity and Vein'.

"Just for a few minutes," she muttered, half to herself and half to the man beside her. "I might have missed something while I was at home…"

_O-ka-a-y…_

Part of him wanted to ask what on earth she'd look for on a show like this, yet common sense warned him to remain silent for a while. He watched without complaint as an image of Amber's big brothers—the touchy-feely guy and the weepy guy—flashed across the screen.

"…An anonymous source has just informed us that Luigi and Pavi Largo, sons of the late president of GeneCo, Rotti Largo, were involved in a scuffle outside the Sanitarium Square Hospital one hour ago. Allegedly, Luigi broke Pavi's nose over an incident of, and I quote, 'Not keeping his [bleep]ing mouth shut'."

There was a forced smile on the gossip journalist's face, almost as though he hadn't expected to ever hear about a situation like that or, for that matter, report about it.

"Good thing it was in front of the hospital, right, ladies and gentlemen? Let's all hope at least one surgeon is available to put Pavi back together again! And speaking of GeneCo…"

The image changed to a shot of Amber and the two numbskulls, complete with the lacy getup she'd worn on the day she assumed command of the family business. Now that Graverobber hadn't seen her face in over two weeks, there was something vaguely pleasant about looking at it on television.

"…Could its new executive, Amber Sweet, be hiding something? Our sources say she was last seen honoring an appointment inside Sanitarium Square Hospital, and before that, exiting a drugstore with an EPT in her possession…"

Shilo's brow had furrowed in confusion; yet Graverobber finally stopped paying attention to the whole thing. Instead, he tried to ignore the spike in his blood pressure by counting the fourteen or more past days back to himself, remembering everything he had done and hoping it had nothing to do with _her_.

_Three days ago, the guys pulled me out of the water…seven days before that, I survived on soup and sandwiches…seven more before that, I…_

He'd started counting the weeks off on his fingers, only to stop permanently at three. If a lot of actions had their consequences, he was staring his own right in the face.

"Oh, damn. I'm the father."

"What was that…?"

One second after Shilo's reaction, Grim fell forward out of the recliner, his eyes wide in pure shock. Before she had the chance to catch him, he'd hit the ground with a thud, and instantly regretted the stabbing pains that resulted in his arms, legs, and forehead.

This was going to be a very, _very_ longnight.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Ricochet

Graverobber should have known not to get too comfortable. Just as it had been in the graveyard, he'd thought the worst was over only to quickly learn otherwise.

An hour or so ago, he, Shilo, and his two best friends had either been watching television or been headed elsewhere for some light reading. After two minor fights for their lives and the acceptance of an unexpected passenger, the fishing trawler had been a welcome sanctuary from the rougher, more dangerous aspects of the island in the distance.

Five minutes ago, however, that peace and quiet turned straight into total chaos.

Right after Steve and Norm had heard him fall onto the floor, they'd run into the room as fast as they could to make sure he wasn't injured. They'd asked a bunch of questions that were probably learned from watching medical shows—could he walk, did it hurt to move, how many fingers were they holding up? He'd handled answering them all without any problems, and did his best to keep a straight face until they were done.

Then Norm had to ask about what made him fall in the first place, and he'd had to admit exactly what had been going on between him and the new head of GeneCo. Both of his friends had been shocked and disbelieving at first, but once he'd repeated the story of how it might have all happened, their opinions got split down the middle.

"You and Amber Sweet?" Steve exclaimed, almost choking on his own laughter. "Are you freakin' _serious_? How did you find that out? Did she just call you with the big news?"

"She didn't, but some gossip show did," Graverobber answered, feeling his insides turn to ice. "Some people saw her buy an EPT, and…well, they made their own conclusions."

"No freakin' way! You pulled that off without the old man calling for your head?"

"He bought it before he could find out, I guess. Too bad those reporters couldn't have been as lucky."

Norm was a lot less easygoing, unfortunately. The dark look in his eyes told Grim everything.

"Uh-huh. So that's what you were up to a couple weeks ago? Messing around with the daughter of the richest guy on this island? Don't tell me you got bored with getting shot at!"

"Well, actually, it was a lot longer than two weeks ago—"

"—Ha! There you go again. You just can't keep your hands to yourself when she's around, can you? Isn't that how you got on this ship in the first place?"

"Norm, not so loud—"

"—I'll talk however loud I want to, damnit! Do you know what happened to Charlie on the west side? They shot her down, that's what happened! They set a trap for her in her usual spot, and the GeneCops shot her. And you know what else? Your 'girlfriend' is the one giving 'em all the orders! Fine time to go stick a bun in her oven, isn't it?"

"Don't you dare blame this on Amber!" Graverobber hissed. "She's not the one who—"

"—Oh, right, I know, 'Daddy Dearest' passed that law! How do you know she's not gonna go along with that, too? She's already got his old job, hasn't she?"

"Go above and cool off," Steve ordered.

"_Excuse_ me? Norm snapped, glaring at the older man. "Are you taking his side? Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I'm the bastard in charge of this ship, that's who. Get upstairs!"

"Fine! Fine, I'll go upstairs!"

He walked halfway to the staircase before turning to glare at them both.

"But he's the one who made this little mistake! Don't cry to me when _she_ makes us pay for it!"

Norm slammed the door behind him on his way upstairs, leaving Grim, Shilo, and Steve in a shocked silence. Even though they'd had their share of encounters with the police, there was no telling how the woman in charge of them would react upon seeing their faces again.

Steve had stopped joking around for once, a sure sign that things were really serious. He wouldn't know how to crack a joke about the situation anyway, no thanks to the tension it had created between him and the other two grave robbers.

Shilo shifted nervously from one foot to the other, her left hand rubbing her right as she watched Graverobber pull himself back into his chair. She'd almost been taken by surprise as much as he had, for she believed that all pregnancy announcements were delivered by the mother straight to the father. That was how it had been when she watched television at home, anyways. Getting the information from some unnamed source wasn't just unexpected; it was also a little scary. She could only imagine what he thought about it, though, for she had a lot of trouble trying to tell from his expression alone.

"Um, Grim…? Are you okay?"

_Am I 'okay'? Hell of a time to ask, Wallace!_

He would have liked to tell her that the story was a big misunderstanding, or better yet, a giant lie made up by a few jealous hookers. Some of them had never liked the way Amber stole his attention every time she showed up, so he could have easily put the blame on them. He would have also liked to blame some other guy for the mishap, like maybe a male SurGEN who didn't get enough attention from the Mrs.-At-Home, and then decided to make up for it while the Boss Lady was out in the surgery chair.

What could he say, though, when the rumor of Amber's kid—and definitely his kid as well—had just struck him like a gunshot? What could he possibly talk about to a girl he barely knew? Not the one announcement he never expected to hear. He didn't even know if he could say another word to Amber again, not when she'd tried to keep something this unexpected to herself instead of letting him know before the media did.

Moreover, any normal, wholesome, educated lady wouldn't have ever thought of letting someone like him touch her, let alone knock her up by accident. Why, then, had Amber ordered him to take her without first insisting on contraceptives? Why had he accepted her challenge to prove his manhood, if not only as a trade for Zydrate? And why, after all those times he got away from the GeneCops without a scratch, did something like this have to come crashing down on him now?

"No, kid, I'm not okay," he sighed, resting his forehead against his right hand. "I'm as far from okay as I can get."

***

'_A scuffle outside the hospital.'_

Luigi had changed the channel before that whiny talking head could say anything further; yet the stupid message still got stuck in his brain.

Of course they'd all freak out after learning he wasn't he wasn't exactly the charity crusader he was supposed to be in public. What else were the fucking paparazzi for, outside of being an old extension of Dad's power? They wanted him to do the same three things he'd done his entire life—don't speak unless spoken to; either stand or sit completely still; and don't dare hog someone else's spotlight.

So what if he'd broken two of those three rules by taking a swing at Pavi? So what if his bad temper finally showed up on camera? Did anyone bother to wonder if maybe the 'perfect' little pervert deserved it…? Did they ever ask themselves if he'd provoked that attack on his own face, or were they too happy believing he was some pure, innocent victim? At least Luigi was smart enough to know where the blame belonged. That freak had it coming the moment he suggested spray-painting the family mausoleum. He deserved getting his nose broken for thinking that dishonoring the dead was somehow a good thing.

And yes, he deserved any _and_ all pain that resulted from the injury. Luigi wouldn't have it any other way, not after the smiling, giggling idiot thought he could get away with it.

Let Pavi whine to the fucking GENterns all he wanted. Let him bother the nurses for a bit more attention than the usual medications. At least _he_ got some time alone for once, which thankfully didn't involve Amber lecturing him as though he'd grown thirty-two years younger. Instead, she'd walked off to her side of the mansion right after they got back there. Either she decided to give him some space, or she was about to call up the GeneCops and press charges. So what if she did? He'd just head straight for his personal panic room; watch the cops not find him and give up; and see them go back the way they came.

Even though he wasn't safe in that very room right now, he still got some much-deserved peace and quiet elsewhere. This particular room seemed designed for that exact purpose, for it had been built a good distance away from the more active areas of the mansion. With a spotless hardwood floor, bare gray walls, a minimalist furniture arrangement, and a biohazard sign hanging on the door, it was one of the few places he could collect his thoughts and not be disturbed by unwanted visitors.

It was also a place where he could read in peace; something he would do freely with the arrival of a surprise letter in the mail. During these past several days, he usually handed the mail off to either Amber or Pavi, but tonight was slightly different. Tonight, there was a letter addressed solely to him in handwriting he'd never seen before, and that suddenly made life a _lot_ more bearable.

_Mr. Luigi Largo_

_7 Stonewall Blvd._

_Sanitarium Square, CF 10000_

_1 September 2056_

_Dear Mr. Largo,_

_I write this letter to extend my deepest sympathies to you and your family. I was so very sad to hear about Rotti, he was such an interesting man. _

'Interesting'? Luigi had a lot of words to describe the geezer, but 'interesting' was not one of them.

_I had the honor and pleasure to know your father for many years, and I was very sorry to hear of his unfortunate passing. I will miss working with him, spending time with him at the pub, and his unique sense of humor._

Yeah, he had a fucking unique sense of humor, all right. Unique enough to insult his firstborn's very existence…

_Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help you during this difficult time. You and your family will be in my thoughts tonight._

_With deepest sympathy,_

_Henry A. Chapman _

Luigi could care less about anyone's sympathy, let alone whatever feelings this clown came to have. It wasn't the first time he'd read a condolence letter from some well-wisher, and he had a strong feeling it wouldn't be the last time, either.

What he did care about—or, more specifically, what he paid the most attention to—was the fact that this man promised some sort of help. He didn't know what kind of help this Chapman guy had written about, yet it had caught his interest just the same.

Would he agree to _anything_, especially if Luigi were the one to ask for it? Did he have any 'moral' restrictions, or would it be no holds barred when it came to his support? Would he be willing to commit a little violence, no matter how innocent the target might seem in the public eye…?

He couldn't find any paper near enough to where he stood, nor could he pick up a pen fast enough to ink his response.

_Mr. Henry Chapman_

_13 Peterson Lane_

_West Haven, CF 10000_

_September 1, 2056_

_Dear Mr. Chapman,_

_Thanks for the five minutes of solidarity. I'd say that's a lot longer than the rest of these 'I'm sorry' and 'My condolences' letters we've been getting._

There were times where he knew he had to avoid sarcasm and not risk sounding like a phony. Tonight was one of those nights.

_I knew you used to work for Dad, but I had no idea you two visited the bar in your spare time. It's hard for me to think of him anywhere else besides at that desk in GeneCo's executive office._

His desk, if he'd only been a little bit faster than Amber.

_Is there any way the two of us could meet up sometime? It's getting pretty quiet over here without the old man around. I hope you'll write back soon, I could use someone to talk to._

Someone besides a freak and a bitchy workaholic…

_Your Humble and Obedient,_

_Luigi G. Largo_

So far, so good. He might not have written any letters in a while, but he made this one sound friendly enough. Hopefully this Chapman would take the bait and come calling.

Luigi almost had the letter sealed inside an envelope when he happened to glance out the window. Outside, the limousine had just left the safety of the garage, and was now headed down the long driveway into the street. Since he knew he hadn't asked the driver for anything and that Pavi was elsewhere, that could only mean Amber had suddenly decided to go for a ride. The question was, where would she plan on going when work had ended for the day and dinnertime had long since passed?

It was as good a night as any for Luigi to find the answer on his own.

***

"I shouldn't have let her trick me like that," Graverobber said flatly. "I should have just kept on walking, and then neither of us would have gotten into this mess."

"How did it happen?" Shilo asked, calming down enough to find a chair.

"Well, when a Z-dealer and a scalpel slut can't keep their hands off each other, one day they let their hormones get out of control, and then—"

"—I know _how_ babies are made; I just want to know why. Why did it happen in that alley?"

"Because Amber forgot to bring her credits along," Graverobber sighed. "It was either go home or find some other way to pay me, and she picked the other way."

"_Oh-h-h_."

Shilo might have never had a boyfriend, but she was able to fill in the blanks rather quickly.

"So…so what do we do now? Do we just go about our business, or do we go back to the island and find out the truth?"

"Depends. Where's Norm?"

"Probably off enjoying a cold one," said Steve. "It's been a little rough here, what with…with one thing and another."

His expression changed fast from serious to ecstatic.

"Oh, damn, I almost forgot! Do you think the Mortician's heard the news? Should somebody call—"

"—It can wait, Steve. I'd rather we go upstairs and figure out whether or not we go back to shore."

"Right, right, sorry…"

Fifteen steps was all it took to get back to the top deck, and from there, Grim motioned for Norm to rejoin them. The time for a decision had finally arrived.

"All right, you guys…and girl. We've yelled, we've bickered, and we've talked things through. Now it's time we all stopped talking and took a vote. Should we stay here and wait for more information, or go back to shore and ask for it?"

"Shore," Steve replied. "Better we hear it from the new boss than some fancy-ass reporter."

"Stay," Norm countered. "I'd rather live another day than get shot down by those freaky twins, thanks."

"Shilo?"

"Um…maybe we should…should…"

"Yeah? Take your time, kid, I'm in no hurry."

Shilo did her best to swallow down her nerves, and not let the stress get to her a second time.

"Uh…I was going to ask if we could go, but at the same time, we bring those guns along? None of us would get hurt, and neither would anyone who tried to attack. They'd just get knocked out long enough for us to get away. Is that all right…?"

"I've got nothing against a few good guns," said Graverobber, giving the other men a stern look. "You guys got a problem with that?"

"I'm good," said Steve, backing away a few steps.

"Yeah, me too," said Norm. "No problems here."

"All right, then. We go, but we go armed and prepared for violence. Take us back, Mr. Frye."

"Aye-aye, Cap'n Graves. I'll be in the engine room."

Graverobber watched his friend disappear downstairs; then took in a slow breath and released it. He was glad that the four of them had managed to get through the shock of what they'd heard and seen. He was also relieved that they'd worked through it without a hitch, and he felt energized about their plan of action to deal with the circumstances.

At the same time, he hoped they would all live to tell the tale someday.

* * *

_Like it? Love it? Want to read more of it? Be sure to comment and subscribe to this story. Thanks! ~~Weasley_


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**—I am not using this to try to make a cent off of Repo. If I did, I'd be tossed into the slammer by now.

**Author's note**—Is there anybody out there who likes this story besides me and Betareject? Am I developing the characters both canon and original in a positive way? Is my writing style more than okay, or is there some kind of requirement that says every Repo story has to have two related characters making out with each other before it can be considered good…?

Seriously, folks. Don't be afraid to leave feedback for me. ;__; I love hearing from visitors, even if it's just a 'Nice job, can't wait to read more'. I want to know my work is making someone happy, so…comment and subscribe, pretty-please? Thanks…

* * *

Chapter 6: The Tangled Web We Weave

The Jolly Roger reached the shipyard at around half-past eleven, a time where no ship builder or other worker would be around to spot them. As it came to rest between a freighter and a few smaller cargo ships, all four passengers could see no intruders prowling around the docks, which meant no one had been waiting around to ambush them. Moreover, no sound came from the docks besides the slow rumbling and crashing of the waves, and the vast network of supply houses and other buildings stretched out before them like a maze.

Shilo could only imagine where that maze would lead them, let alone if they would find their way back to this part of the island. Only a few days together, and everything was due to fall apart in less than a night. After knowing these three men for barely a week, it was much too soon for her to have to leave them behind now.

For Graverobber, however, staying put and doing nothing just wasn't an option. Something was forcing him to choose between the natural family he might have and the only surrogate family he'd ever known; a choice that he was not yet ready to make. It didn't matter which half shared his DNA and which half shared nothing, or which part looked like him and which part did not. Either way, he'd have to extend his loyalty to both groups involved, and hope neither one destroyed the other out of spite. And as for his personal safety, _that_ was non-negotiable no matter who asked. Either he'd help the others fight their way back to this place of sanctuary, or he'd die trying. It was more than a fair trade after the way he'd caused trouble for them all.

"Everybody locked and loaded?"

"I'm good," Norm said, avoiding his eyes. "You?"

"The same."

"Steve?"

The ship's pilot handed his gun over to Shilo.

"Someone's gotta watch this ship," he explained. "You know how to use this thing, right?"

"I've seen it used once or twice," she mumbled. "Will you be okay by yourself?"

"On this fortress? I think I'll survive. Been doing it for ten years straight!"

Steve drove the ship forward until it reached the nearest pier; then lowered the rope ladder onto the wooden boards so that the rest of the group could safely disembark.

"All ashore that's goin' ashore!"

Norm climbed down to the docks first, Shilo followed, and Graverobber came last; all three of them carrying the Z-guns under their jackets.

"If you don't see any of us in two hours, clear out of here," Graverobber said. "Go to the next island if you have to, but just don't go looking for GeneCops."

"No problem. See you soon…?"

"We'll try."

Several minutes later, once they had left the shipyard, crossed a highway, and climbed on board the first garbage truck they saw, the three entered the skyscraper labyrinth, moving steadily towards the heart of the island. The moon rested at its last quarter phase; white and shining on the left side, while the right side carried only darkness. And in spite of the smog and other waste that got released into the air, the night sky remained surprisingly clear as though no pollution had ever touched it.

Under the usual circumstances, Shilo might have looked out of her window in search of Orion's Belt, Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, and many other constellations she'd read about in one of her astronomy books. She would then have imagined life without medications, masks, and rules, and wondered if she would someday fly into space to see the stars up close.

Norm would either have been hard at work by himself, or else hard at work with Charlie by his side. After three years of getting to know the gal, he'd thought the two of them could get through just about everything together. Too bad 'everything' hadn't included bullets and guns.

Graverobber didn't have to think too long about his routine, though. He was practically going through the motions right now, because once again, he was on his way to the alley where she would be waiting. And once he had reached that spot, things could go any which way, depending on how well or how badly their big conversation went.

Given the choice between a fight and a peaceful resolution, he'd pick the least violent way out. He just had to figure out what to say to Amber first, so that nothing violent would happen.

"Hey, Shilo…?"

The kid instantly looked over at him. "Yes?"

"Distract me for a second. How did the guys find you?"

Shilo giggled nervously before speaking again; a sign that either she'd also been distracted, or she'd been thinking about the exact same thing.

"Oh. Well…I'd almost gotten to the part where I found Steve and Norm in some run-down bar. They'd both kinda had a few drinks, so I had to wave a lot to get their attention."

"And then what happened?"

"They thought I was a cancer patient who needed _stronger_ painkillers."

Graverobber couldn't help but laugh along with Shilo after hearing this. The first time he saw her without her usual long hair, he almost had the same idea.

"Yeah, you're a _patient_, all right. A regular high-maintenance case!"

"I'm so high-maintenance that I had to wear wigs all my life! How freaky is that?"

They both laughed for a little while longer, and then the familiar streets finally came into view. There would be no eager addicts cozying up to him for their nightly hits, and there definitely wouldn't be any eunuchs present to play chaperone. This time, there would be those two dangerous ladies standing between him and Amber, and he'd have to play it cool around them if he wanted to stay out of trouble.

"Not as freaky as what we're about to do."

The truck came to a convenient stop, and with it, the two men and one girl jumped down without a sound.

"Keep on the lookout for any creeps," Grim advised Norm and Shilo. "Remember, this one almost got the family business. They might be looking for some payback."

"And if those creeps decide to get rough?" Norm asked, holding the Zydrate gun at his side.

"You get back to the ship, and pray they don't play follow-the-leader."

***

Three weeks away from that alley, and somehow Amber Sweet remembered the way to it as though she'd been there the day before. Not much had changed, other than the lack of Blind Mag posters peering up at her from their places on the crumbling walls. It was the same shady, rat-infested place it had always been, and it would go on looking like that long after she had left it.

_Home sweet home…_

The only other difference was that he hadn't been there to meet her. This time she'd entered the place alone, and other than her team of new bodyguards, there was no smirking, bowing pale man there to welcome her back…at least, not yet.

The time on her watch read 11:55, five minutes until midnight and the hour they'd held all their meetings in the past. Most of the whores and other street trash had left this place already, for without their nightly hits of Zydrate, there was no reason for them to circle around and hope for second helpings. Either they all bought it due to withdrawal, or else they'd moved on in search of some other grave robber willing to indulge their addictions.

_So what?_

At least there would be no one else around to whisper about her visit. It would all be strictly business, and then she'd go home without a second thought about her dealer. All the better for her image, and double that for GeneCo's sake.

Five minutes later, as though by some unknown magic, she heard his familiar whistle from a short distance away. That whistle was followed by the sound of his footsteps upon the concrete, and then the slight click-click of a swinging Z-gun. Her waiting had finally paid off.

"Evening, ladies."

The guards stood on either side of Amber like twin statues, their senses alert and their guns cocked. Both watched him enter the alley as though they were predators watching prey, and he was careful to keep his hands in the air as he walked.

"Thought the boss lady might be here," he said slowly, keeping an eye on them. "Back to the scene of the crime, wouldn't ya say?"

"I wouldn't call this a crime," Amber snapped, one hand resting upon her stomach. "Not after we both let things get out of control."

"Huh, so you know all about control, do you?"

"_Don't_."

"Oh, really?"

It was almost too easy to hide the pain in his voice after hearing the edge in hers. How quick the mighty could fall when they let their emotions get the best of them.

"Is it true what they said on that gossip show, Amber? Is it true you've got one on the way?"

"What gossip show? Who said that?!"

He almost laughed out loud at seeing the fear in her eyes. Scaring the hell out of the new boss might be fun after all, if it meant tricking her into telling the truth.

"Oh, I don't know, Amber…some lonely guy SurGEN having trouble in Paradise? Or was it some pissed-off Repo man who just broke up with his girlfriend? Was it better than those other times? Did they get to you before or after you passed out in the chair?"

"I said, _don't_!"

She'd had enough of his trash talk, and she proved it with a left to the jaw.

"Don't you ever—don't you _dare_—_you shut the fuck up_!"

Neither guard prevented her from teaching him a lesson, for they willingly remained silent. Once she'd slapped him for the third time, however, he grabbed both of her wrists to keep her from going any further.

"Knock it off."

"You're sick, you know that? You sick bastard!"

"I said, knock it off!"

"_Hands behind your head! Now_!"

The twins acted in unison then, lowering their guns and aiming straight at him as though they were one unit. Graverobber slowly released Amber's hands and raised his own into the air, proving that he didn't want them to open fire.

As far as Amber cared, however, she looked as though gunfire would be the least of his worries.

"Who else is out here besides you?" she hissed, balling her hands into fists. "_No one_! Where else would I go?"

"Amber—"

"We said, hands _behind_ your head!"

"—All right, all right! Take it easy!"

He did as the women instructed, but not without giving them both a sarcastic smirk.

"There. My hands are behind my head. What would you like me to do with them now?"

"_Nothing_. Stay where you are."

"Okay…"

He pretended to smile and act as though this were a routine impasse. Neither of the dangerous ladies had shot him yet, which was a plus. Another plus was how they hadn't noticed Shilo or Norm waiting around the corner. And if they didn't see the other two, then they definitely wouldn't see the fact that they were armed, which amounted to a third plus.

The only minus in this equation was Amber; who, after letting him have it with her hands and words, suddenly let it all go and started to cry.

_Damn._

"Mistress? Are you all right…?"

He should have seen those clenched fists and shaky sobs coming from a mile away. She was probably just as big of an emotional wreck as he was, if not bigger. Unfortunately, even if he had seen it coming, he wouldn't have dealt with it any easier than he did now.

"No, you bitch, I am _not_ all right," she sniffled, one hand twitching as though she wanted to slap the guard who had just spoken.

"I'm all knocked up and I can't think straight. Why would I be all right?"

"We could go home if you prefer, Mistress," the other guard said. "Or would you rather we sent for your brothers? Would you wish to talk to them instead?"

"No need for that, folks," Graverobber said, looking into the shadows. "I think they're already here."

***

In the ten minutes or more that it took to follow Amber's limousine, Luigi had assured that his own driver never lost sight of the other car's taillights. The threat of a knife through the heart was enough to keep the dumb fuck focused, as far as he was concerned.

She'd had a tendency to run off before, but she'd always come back with some believable excuse, like she had gone shopping and lost track of time; she had gone to the bathroom and left her watch there; and his personal favorite, a dog suddenly attacked her and she'd had to spend some time kicking it away.

Little did she know how hard it would be to lie _now_, since this time, he'd decided to follow her to find things out on his own. And if he saw a single thing out of place, he'd find a way to make the slut answer for it.

"Stop here!"

The driver halted the limo on the spot, and once he'd taken off his seatbelt, Luigi wasted no time in entering the same alley he'd just spotted Amber walking into. She'd brought the twins along, all right, but neither of them appeared to be doing their job. Why would they agree to drive to a place like this? Why had neither of them bothered to call him so he'd know what was up? And most importantly, why would she tell them to come along at all if she wasn't on any official business?

The violent part of his brain wished that he had either stayed home, or else done something useful besides hide his knife away in a shoulder holster. It had been a while since he had a good kill, and he was one step from making up for lost time.

The weary part started muttering angrily to itself, for he couldn't figure out the answer entirely on his own. He'd never been able to read a woman's mind, let alone that of his younger sister. Why bother trying to start now?

Once he'd found her facing some raggedy stranger, the curious part sprang to life and started begging him to end that stranger's life right then and there. How else could he have a private conversation with Amber if that fucking peasant was listening…?!

"_Luigi_!"

His name was all it took for him to pull the knife out and keep it at the ready.

"Where the fuck have _you_ been, and who the fuck is _this_?"

Amber looked terrified, surprised, and miserable the moment he started talking.

_All the better to torture you with, sister!_

The guy with her, on the other hand, looked like he just wanted to get the hell out of there.

"I—I was just getting some air! That's all!"

"You drove all the way out here for some air?"

"It was getting too crazy at home!"

"Crazy? _Crazy_? I wasn't the fucking idiot who wanted to spray-paint the mausoleum!"

"That's not what I—"

"—Are you taking his side now?"

"No! No, I'm taking _my_ side! _Both_ of you are completely out of control!"

"Yeah, says you! What's this peasant doing here?"

"Leaving."

Graverobber didn't like how that knife twitched in Luigi's hand; yet he put his two cents in anyway. It felt a lot better than waiting for the rich boy to kill him.

"Who said you could leave?"

"Nobody told me, I just guessed. _Sir_," he added quickly, putting his hands out where the nut job could see them.

"No doubt you'll want some time alone with your sister here?"

Luigi didn't expect this stranger to act so polite; yet at the same time, he couldn't complain about it. It was good to see someone who knew their place, even though he wouldn't say it out loud.

"Of course I do. _Scram_!"

"Thank you, Mr. Largo."

Graverobber stood up and started walking towards the nearest alley, his voice carrying over the hum of the limousines' engines.

"I'll be checking on a corpse in the coffin. See ya later, gorgeous."

He might not have seen her reaction, but he knew that she would know where to find him. The line about the corpse was a code message he'd invented, and it promised that he'd be waiting at one of her family's vacation homes. Before too much longer, she would be there as well, and hopefully without either Luigi or those damned bodyguards. He'd take care of her just fine on his own, thank you very much.

" 'Gorgeous'?" Luigi repeated sarcastically, giving Amber an incredulous look.

"He's not the first bum who flirted with me," Amber snapped back, crossing her arms and returning Luigi's glare. "And he won't be the last, either. What's it to you?"

"I thought you said you wanted to stay home for the rest of the night. This doesn't look like home to me!"

"That's because I'm going to the villa, stupid! I'm taking a mental health break from work!"

"A _what_?!"

"A day of rest and relaxation, dumbass! After this time tomorrow, you can bother me all you want!"

"Fine," he snapped, shoving the knife back in its holster. "Who's looking after GeneCo while you're gone?"

"My secretaries, of course. They already know how to use a computer, don't they?"

"Whatever. Just get the fuck out of my sight!"

"_Gladly_!"

Luigi might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but at least he knew when to pick his battles. Right now, Amber could go off and have her little healthy day, or whatever she'd called it. Let her relax and have her peons watch over everything for her. She'd be perfectly awake and comfortable just in time to learn that he'd invited Henry Chapman to the mansion.

And once Chapman was there, everything would get really interesting really fucking fast. He'd offered his help, all right, and that meant he'd have to do whatever Luigi told him to do, whether he believed in such methods or not.

For the first time in his life, Luigi Largo was glad to have a partner in crime who might be as equally motivated as he was, if not also as skilled. It would make the end result all the more gratifying once the end itself was carried out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: Don't own Repo, never have, never will.

**Author's Note:** Seven chapters, four comments…is it just me, or is my 'ship the overlooked band geek of Repo romance? Have all the first Gramber fans disappeared into thin air, never to return since February…?? Ah, well…

PS—If you like this story, please take the time to leave some feedback…and then go check out 'The Magic Bracelet' and give that new one-shot some lurve, too. 3 It's a new fairy tale twist vibe I started recently, so…hope it's a good one.

_And for my next trick…_

Chapter Seven: The Reunion

If there was a way to describe the center of Crucifixus, it would be called the brain of this little world while the south was the heart. Even though GeneCo held its own in that place, there were a few lesser establishments just above it in which company mergers and other deals were decided. And according to popular legend, this vacation home was one of them.

Rumor had it that Rotti Largo came up with the idea of the Repo Men right here, on the day that could have originally been the end of the world. While no meteors had appeared, no spontaneous explosions taken place, and no enormous solar flares blinked humanity out of existence; December 21st still became a day of extreme significance for the entire planet. That was the day a sketch of a masked man in a dark uniform appeared on the news channels, and once the sharp tool in his hand was noted, everyone got the message about how GeneCo might take back its property from those who didn't pay. By the first of January, 2013, that sketch came to life the moment J. Wilder and R. Shelby defaulted on their designer brains.

These days, Graverobber only thought that they were the lucky ones, because they died before they could see their world plunge into an unshakeable obsession with physical appearance. Maybe Amber was lucky too, if she'd stopped putting herself under the knife as he suspected. Either way, he could not see this villa as the catalyst for mass murder. Instead, its lights had long represented a place of sanctuary for him, and with the key to the front door safe inside his gloved hand, he was all too happy to return to it.

It fit perfectly into each of the three locks, and with a short twist of the doorknob, he walked through the white door without a sound. The entrance was a half-circle room with ivory walls and a partial compass upon the tiled floor, pointing north, east, or west to the room of the guest's choice. Under different circumstances, he would have gone north to the staircase that led to the upper rooms, but that would have to wait until Amber arrived. Until then, he traveled west to the sitting room and found a familiar blue chair waiting for him.

"You and I really should stop meeting like this," he joked, sitting down and making himself comfortable. "People will say we're in love!"

In the middle of the room was a grandfather clock, and its chimes struck half-past twelve the moment the minute hand reached the number 6.

_Almost one in the morning,_ Graverobber thought. I _hope the kid got back all right._

He had instructed Shilo and Norm to get out of the alley if they heard him speak his code message. Judging by the sound of running he'd heard, they'd followed his instructions to the letter. And the sooner they got back to the fishing trawler, the better he'd feel about this whole predicament.

It was almost three weeks since the triple death at the Opera, his and Amber's crazy moment of reproduction, and Shilo's escape into the outside world. Heaven knew how long it had been since Charlie fell to a GeneCop's bullet. Just when things got lively around this island, someone almost always wound up dead. He could only imagine how Amber dealt with all the hacking and slashing, other than typing in 'Organ Repossession Successful' and going about her business.

And where his own business was concerned, he hoped to get back to it before too much time passed by. There were still so many crypts to visit, so many hidden chambers to break into, and so many coffins to disturb. He _could_ have had the mother lode three days ago, if it hadn't been for the beefed-up security. What sort of person could have sent so many guards and police to that area, anyway? It definitely wasn't the new head of GeneCo, because when it came to those laid to rest, she'd rarely spoken to one and never felt all that close to the other two. On the other hand…who else would be that upset with him, especially if they'd felt abandoned long before they ever took that error-proof test?

Graverobber didn't have much longer to think things through, for the sound of Amber's key in the lock put an end to his thoughts. He sat up straight just as she walked inside, dropping the key back into her purse as she went.

"That was quick," he smirked. "Did you run into any traffic along the way?"

"Only scavengers would be out at this hour," she shot back, raising an eyebrow. "Not to mention anyone hunting for Zydrate."

"Is that so?"

He rose from his place and faked a bow, but not without watching her carefully.

"I'll be sure to do just that when I have the time…and when _security_ lets up a little. You wouldn't happen to know about that, would you?"

"What the fuck are you getting at, Grim?"

"The double line of guards at the graveyard in the South. Who sent them?"

"I wouldn't know that even if I wanted to," she said firmly. "I don't give any major orders to the 'Cops these days, just the Repo Men."

"Uh-_huh_…"

He scratched her name off the list in his mind; then took a step forward.

"So where did your two friends go?"

"I sent them back home with the car."

She mirrored his step with one of her own, her eyes locked upon his.

"There's no need for guards if you're here, right?"

"You might say that."

Her hands weren't turned towards her pockets as though about to pull out a weapon; yet Graverobber still wasn't convinced.

"And where's that other brother of yours? Sneaking around the perimeter, maybe?"

"No, he's still in the recovery room where Luigi left him."

"_That_ must have hurt."

"Well, at least he wasn't stabbed to death," Amber said, trying to laugh it off. "He's probably got his nose in the right place by now. Too bad I can't say the same for his brain."

Before she could take a moment to clear her head, the stress of the past few weeks spilled out in a tirade.

"I just don't get him sometimes, you know that? First he wants my old face, then he starts muttering about taking my job, and now he gets busted for wanting to ruin Dad's grave. What kind of shit is he trying to pull?"

She took in a sharp breath, her fists clenched at her sides.

"And you know what else? Luigi's even worse! He's always picking fights, or sulking, or challenging me in public…"

She sank into the chair opposite where Graverobber stood, her hands slipping in and out of her hair.

"…Sometimes I wonder if those hench-twins are the _only_ people looking out for me. It's a miracle I keep avoiding my brother's knife, and then this…"

He'd seen her angry more than once, along with sad, happy, nervous, excited, annoyed, and just plain bored out of her skull. He couldn't remember her being this stressed out before, though. Even if she had been, he'd long forgotten how he got her to calm down and feel better.

At least, he had until the memory of Shilo popped up. The moment she got upset was the same moment he distracted her with a little television. And once she'd seen a good movie and a somewhat trustworthy news program, she'd become her normal, wary self again.

But was the right distraction for a teenage girl also right for a grown woman…?

"Well…if it helps any, my housemates haven't been all that good, either," he began, lying through his teeth.

"They don't like me risking my neck to get 'Z every night. In fact, I bet they wish I moved north and joined them at the loading docks."

"You, a warehouse man…?"

He was no actor in a romance movie, but he knew a smile when he saw it.

"Why not? The worst thing that can happen to 'em is getting crushed by a giant box. That's a lot less dangerous than armed GeneCops, right?"

First she'd smiled, and then she actually _laughed_.

"Right."

No cheap hooker could ever hope to look the way Amber did now.

As far as Graverobber was concerned, he'd never want them to.

"So…are you up for a little T.V.?"

He offered her his arm, and she accepted without a second thought.

"Gladly. Let's go find a cheesy horror movie and laugh at it!"

"No problem…"

***

"_I! Ain't got no-bo-ha-ha-dee…and nobody can afford-ha me! Ya-ta-ta-ta ya-ta-ta-ta-hah!"_

Amber and Graverobber were not yet at the middle of Young Frankenstein, but the movie hadn't failed to work its charm on them both.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you and Igor were related," she snickered, taking a small handful of popcorn from the bowl they shared. "There's some kind of match in your eyes, I swear…"

"Who, me? Psh! The guy's nose is way too long."

"Well, that _was_ almost ninety years ago. Maybe his family's genes changed over time?"

Graverobber took a hard look at the actor's face; then burst out laughing.

"Yeah? Well, your family reminds me of Frankenstein and the big green guy."

"Say what?"

"Come on. Take a good look at how the monster acts around women. Who does he remind you of?"

"Hmmm…"

Once Amber hit the automatic fast-forward button on the remote, she figured it out in an instant.

"No fucking _way_!"

"What?"

"I swear that's how Pavi acts when he's drunk!"

"Exactly! And who do we know that strangles people when he's mad?"

One flick of the rewind button, and both of them burst out laughing at the sight of Frankenstein going after Igor.

"You're right again, that's definitely Luigi!"

"Yeah, it sure is. Who else would get that wild over a silly mistake?"

Amber knew of only one, but she felt too happy to curse the moment by mentioning his name.

"No idea," she lied, keeping a straight face. "What about that bimbo assistant? Does she remind you of anyone?"

"I know who she _doesn't_ remind me of," Graverobber said mysteriously. "She's nothing like you, that's for sure. Inga would watch Luigi take over GeneCo, fawn over him until he threatened her, and then screw him just so he'd be in a good mood again. You, on the other hand, did none of the above; and you don't use the business as a playground. That's a lot to come by, and in three weeks, no less."

"You really think so…?"

"Hell yes, I do. If you were all beauty and no brains, would you work so hard to keep it all together?"

Did she even have to answer? It was a reminder of what had been and what was. She would rather think about the future instead of the past, and with Grim there, that future was the first thing on her mind.

"If I was all beauty and no brains, I wouldn't be working at all," she answered, moving closer so that she could rest her head against his shoulder. "And if I messed around with anyone else, I wouldn't be able to spend any time with you."

There was no need for Graverobber to respond, for he'd thought the same thing long before she said it. After three long weeks, he was glad to know just how much she'd missed him.

***

Some time later, after they had both tried to stay awake and watch the rest of the movie, Graverobber woke up to find that the lights and the television set had been turned off. The automatic power switches were probably activated as soon as he and Amber had fallen asleep, for not even the digital clock showed him the time.

He still knew how to add, though, and one plus an hour and forty-six minutes amounted to almost three A.M. It was a little late for his standards, because it meant he usually had four more hours in which to gather the glow and then take a rest. For her, however, it was far too long to be awake even without work to go to. Shifting slightly, he kept one arm around her shoulders while the other slipped under her legs, lifting her carefully from the couch and carrying her into the hallway.

The compass pointed north and north he went, taking one step at a time until he'd reached the next floor, and from there, he brought her to a room with red walls, a dark wooden floor, and a large bed with white blankets, red and gold pillows, and a golden runner stitched with red flowers. It was where she'd spent the night so many times in the past, and it was the perfect place for her to sleep until he could see her in the morning.

Pulling the blankets aside, he'd started to lower her onto the pillows when she slowly opened her eyes, looking up to see him standing over her.

"Grim…? Graverobber, what happened?"

"You were asleep," he said, letting go once he'd placed her upon the mattress. "I guess that's normal, right? The kid's already wearing you out."

"Yeah," she sighed, unable to stifle a yawn. "I guess he…she is…?"

"Probably. Well…I'd better get back downstairs, wouldn't want to—"

As he was about to turn away, Amber sat up just far enough to steal a kiss. Her fingers caressed the scars on either side of his face, and her lips held his own until he pulled away, gasping for breath.

"Oh, _damn_…"

It was impossible to avoid her eyes when they rested so short of a distance away.

"What's the matter, Graverobber?"

There she went again with that purr in her voice. He'd never liked that purr when he had somewhere else to go, and he sure as hell didn't like it now.

"No offense, Sweet, but uh…shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I _am_ in bed, silly." She reached up and ran a finger down one side of his face. "What are you, my babysitter?"

"Wish I was," he groaned, allowing her to guide him down to the place where she lay.

Her kisses became longer, more focused, and her arms encircled him on the spot. He barely had time to recover from the rush, and found himself struggling to catch his breath. One side of his brain told him this wasn't the best time, yet the other forced his hands into place, pressing against her hips and tightening around her waist.

Graverobber wanted her and doubted her all at once, not knowing if he could let her take him any further. Had she really forgiven him for his snide remarks? Had she deflected Luigi's questions on purpose, and made sure he did not follow them later on?

Once she'd slipped her hands beneath his shirt and pulled it away from his skin, his mind stopped questioning her motives and his hormones started screaming their raucous approval. Three weeks was too long a time to feel her hands tracing the outlines of his bare chest, wrapping around his neck, or pulling him gently against her. He wouldn't waste any time making up for all the days he'd missed.

The moment their lips touched, his hands slipped down around her waist, feeling both the softness of her skin and the tight fit of her bodice. She might have worn it originally as part of her work clothes, but as his fingers traveled freely over her hips, she lifted her arms high above her head as though daring him to do something else with it.

"So that's your game, hm-m-m?"

He took the neat little bow at the top and untied it one loop at a time, grinning all the while.

"What happens when I do…this?"

He loosened the first two laces with a finger, and pretended not to notice Amber smiling back.

"How about this?"

Her smile remained in place as he loosened two more, and with it, he heard a small giggle.

"All right…what about _this_?"

This time, he worked slowly on purpose, brushing the tip of his finger against her stomach as one string came loose, followed by the other. Amber quieted down on the spot, her body growing still and eager for him to make his next move.

"Or this?"

Two more laces, and he felt her shiver beneath his touch. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he traced a thin line between the edges of her bodice until he reached the bottom.

"Or maybe…this?"

The final set of laces were loosened with a flourish, and at long last, he heard the sigh of pleasure that told him she was ready. Through the darkness, that look in her eyes was set, beckoning him to come closer and stay close.

"_Jackpot_," he whispered, kissing the curves of her shoulders as the bodice fell to the floor. Their time had now come.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Dear TZ and DLB:

You are the sole owners of Repo, and for this, you're the luckiest bunch of fellows on the planet.

I solemnly swear never to use your lovely creation for any greedy get-rich quick schemes. Instead, I shall practice my mad writing skills with fan-fiction from your most excellent movie, and enjoy all the Repo videos on YouTube that I can find.

Sincerely,

_TWB_.

**Author's Note:** Wow, people…where do I begin? Okay…

Thanks to everybody who commented and subscribed to this story. You know who you are, and you're the best. I just have one more favor to ask you (and after that, I'll shut my big mouth and leave you all alone….) : Subscribe to 'A Little Help With the Agony', pretty-please? It's my job to collect Gramber stories, sooo…hope I can have a few watchers to help make the community a little more active.

Second…this may be my longest chapter ever, but for good reason—Amber finally makes a decision whether or not to become a mommy. Hope I add enough detail to keep everyone interested.

Third…this chapter has make-up sex. There, I said it. The S-WORD. I'm warning you all ahead of time, because I don't know how many underage people are reading this. If you're under/not close to 18 and your mom/dad/step-parent/etc. wouldn't want you reading something like this…turn away now and read a T-rated story for me instead. If not…let's press on and enjoy a little more Gramber goodness.

Chapter Eight: The Lady's Choice

Ten years ago, there was a time where Graverobber had been very cautious with Amber. He'd first held off on her offer of sex until she was eighteen, and after that, he had been gentle to the point of handling her like a glass figurine.

That was nothing compared to the way he treated her now.

This time, he kissed her fiercely, repeatedly; his hands traveling freely over every inch of her bare skin. She felt the warmth of his whisper just above her right ear, and it sent a thrill of excitement racing along her spine. He stroked the soft spot between her legs until his fingers were moist, causing her to moan loudly in satisfaction.

Then she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he was inside her, thrusting against her as his breathing grew quicker, deeper. She controlled her movement to match his own, feeling her pleasure grow from within and digging her nails into his back. Soon, a warm, wet sensation shot into her body, leading her to shriek his name and arch hard against the mattress.

It was their last instant of ecstasy before they pulled apart, catching their breaths and falling back against the pillows. The scents of perfume and fresh sweat were heavy in the air, and the white cotton sheets felt cool against their skin. Amber saw nothing but Graverobber's eyes staring back at her, dark blue in the moonlight and just as focused upon her as she upon him. She ran a hand through his damp, streaked hair, enjoying the way he felt warm against her fingertips.

"Silly old Graverobber," she teased. "Did I work you too hard?"

"Funny, I was gonna ask you the same thing," he chuckled. "That's the roughest I've been in weeks."

"You liked it, though, didn't you?"

"Of course."

His smile suddenly turned into a grimace, and Amber felt his hand brush against her stomach. Even though the embryo was not yet a bulge, she still took hold of his hand, pressing firmly to promise him that it was there.

"Hang on…"

"What? What is it?"

"Well…"

In the moonlight, she saw his white face redden slightly.

"…I didn't _jab_ him just now, did I? Or her…?"

"Give yourself a break, Grim. The brat's too far away to feel _anything_ from you."

"Oh. Right…sorry…"

"It's all right."

She pulled herself close to him a second time, resting her head against his chest.

"There's no way you could hurt me, not like this. You would have done it already if you wanted to. I know you, G…"

Amber yawned and snuggled closer, her thick lashes resting against the edges of her cheeks. Was it just her, or had the warmth of the room just gone up ten degrees…?

"Yeah," he whispered, wrapping both arms around her waist. "I would have done it if I wanted to…but I didn't."

"You didn't…w-what…?"

She was asleep before she could talk any further, and once his heartbeat calmed down enough, he followed her.

When she opened her eyes, neither she nor Graverobber had moved an inch, for they'd stayed inside each other's arms the entire night. Faint beams of sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, adding a golden glow to the red room. In the morning sun, she could see him a bit clearer than she had in the moonlight. His skin remained snow-white and calloused, the linens almost perfectly matching the shade. The scarlet, electric blue, and beige streaks in his hair stood out against the pillows, all of them light upon the dark red. His black lips parted slightly with each breath, and his pale gray eyelids fluttered in sleep.

_I want him here,_ Amber thought, placing a hand against his face. _He wants to be here, too. I wonder if…_

She pulled the blankets around them both and slept again, the warmth of the bed preventing her from staying awake.

After a few more hours, she awoke again to find the place beside her empty, her skin undesirably cold. She didn't hear him whistling outside her door or coming back upstairs to check on her, and her nerves began to kick in.

Pulling on a robe and a pair of underwear, she raced out of the room and into the hallway. She saw no sign of him there or in the room by the staircase. She also did not see him in the family room or near the entrance to the garden, and that only made her fear grow by the second. Had she slept soundly enough to hear no disturbances in the house? Had someone gotten wind of her ties to this dealer? Had they broken into the room and taken him away from her? Did he…

"There you are!"

She found him in the dining room, fully dressed; sitting at the long table; and flipping through the newspaper as though nothing bad had happened. Nothing _did_ happen, for there he was, safe and sound. In the midst of her relief, Amber felt herself blush for being worried in the first place.

"I almost went up there and rolled you out of bed myself. How was your night?"

"Fine," she said quickly, taking in a short breath. "Perfect, even. How was yours?"

"Best I ever had." He glanced briefly at her tousled hair and worried eyes. "Something scare you?"

"Spider," she lied. "I got it with the back of my hairbrush."

"Excellent!"

Graverobber smiled and held out one section of the newspaper for her to read.

"I just finished with the comics, by the way. Care to take a look?"

"Sure."

She spent a moment or two catching up on a few cartoons, grimacing when one strip put a bad joke into the plotline; laughing to herself when another showed a kid happily playing around with his dog. Then she turned to the next page, and almost threw the entire section onto the ground in disgust.

"Oh, _damn it all to hell_!"

"What? What's in there?"

"Look at the Gossip Guide, Grim. Take a good look, go on!"

He read the headline as she had told him to do, and saw the words Is Amber Sweet Expecting printed in black ink. The columnist must have had a field day with this, for he/she wrote a _lot_ about the subject at hand, putting the words 'EPT' and 'vanishing act' into the same sentence. Try as he might, Graverobber couldn't share that loser's enthusiasm.

"Those idiots," Amber hissed, banging a fist against the table. "They're spreading the bad news all over the papers!"

"Has anyone called you about it yet?"

"Not at all, I left my phone at home on purpose."

"Would you rather someone called you?"

"No. _No_! What would I tell them anyway? 'Oh yes, I did forget to use protection one night, and by the way, I'm a recovering drug addict?' Even _that_ sounds lousy, especially from me!"

She slapped a hand against her forehead; then sighed in disgust.

"What the hell do we do now?"

Graverobber tried to come up with a good answer, but he could think of nothing worthwhile to say. With the shock of finding out still fresh on his mind, there was little else to focus on except the usual responses to this question.

"Okay…well…either you keep the kid and raise it, or you don't keep or raise it," he mumbled. Why ask me?"

"Because it's _not_ that simple, silly!"

She grabbed his hand and slapped it against the spot on his belt that held the Zydrate vials.

"The doctor says that if I do get rid of it, I'll have to take more Z for the pain."

"And then what happens?"

"I lose my job, my future, and I live out the rest of my life as a junkie?"

"_Oh_."

He should have seen that idea coming, at least. What was it about this conversation that got him so tongue-tied…?

"How—how long are you staying here?"

"Until midnight tonight."

"And what time is it now?"

She looked briefly over at the digital clock.

"It's ten-fifteen in the morning. Why?"

He took a quick breath inward before speaking again.

"It's high time both of us got something to eat. Whatever the right answer is, I doubt we'll find it on an empty stomach."

"All right," Amber sighed, taking a few deep breaths of her own. "I'll be upstairs, washing up and trying not to freak out. Call me when it's ready?"

"Sure."

***

"You're eating way too fast."

"No, I'm not."

"Slow down a little, you'll make yourself sick."

"Make me."

Amber had devoured four syrup-drenched pancakes and five links of sausage, and she didn't show any signs of stopping. While Graverobber was glad she had taken the time to relax, he also saw that she'd already started eating for two. Good thing there was half a box of pancake mix and another package of sausages waiting in the refrigerator.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Mwhm…"

She had to swallow another bite before speaking again.

"…I mean, yes, I know I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, I don't know…morning sickness?"

Setting her knife and fork down upon the table, Amber nudged the plate away from her, her face suddenly ashen.

"It comes and goes," she confessed, glaring at her hands. "I haven't felt anything for a few days, though."

"I see."

He pushed away what was left of his food, for he'd nearly cleared the plate a moment ago. It was time to get to the subject at hand before he let himself get too distracted with something else.

"Okay, Amber, you're the boss. How do we figure out what to do about this kid?"

Amber started rummaging around in her purse until she'd produced a sheet of lined paper with a series of questions upon it.

"We probably wait until I get this paper filled out," she explained. "It's supposed to help women in crisis make good decisions about their best interests, or at least, that's what the web site told me."

"And what's your best interest?"

"I don't know yet, but if I finish this, maybe I'll come up with something soon."

"Do you need any help answering those questions?"

The trouble was, could they both cope with the decision later on, along with all of the consequences?

"You've helped me enough already," she sighed, almost looking guilty. "I'm gonna take care of things for once."

"All right."

Graverobber excused himself without a word and walked straight to the family room for a little T.V. Along the way, he let his mind wander here and there, quietly wondering what path the boss lady would choose, as well as how it would affect him later on.

On the one hand, he didn't want Amber using the kid to weasel money out of him. She already had whatever was left of the old man's fortune, so he had a feeling that something like child support might not be entirely necessary. Every credit he gathered each night also went straight towards food and other essentials he needed right away, leaving him with a handful left over to stick in a jar for safe keeping. Because the jar was not yet full, he doubted it would amount to anything over one hundred dollars, let alone enough to look after an infant for more than a few weeks.

On the other hand…he didn't like the idea of making her fend for herself, either. Maybe it was just his guilty conscience talking, but if there was anything, any _specific_ thing she needed to make her new routine go a little more smoothly, he'd get it for her. It took a lot less than a hundred for one box of diapers, or one jar of formula, or even some stuffed animal to keep the kid company. He could even pitch in for a doctor's appointment or a bottle of medicine, if he/she needed those things to stay healthy and happy.

Yes, he could deal with the small requirements to take care of the baby, but could he make a much larger step by leaving his old life and job behind forever?

It was a question he couldn't stop asking himself, not even after he turned the T.V. set on for another round of entertainment.

First came the local news program which reported the latest string of repossessions; half a week of stormy weather; the start of the high school football season; and, last but not least, an upgrade of Pavi Largo's condition from fair to good. Graverobber made a mental note of the last story so he could tell Amber about it later. If she'd worried about the shithead at all; then maybe the good news would make her feel a little better.

After that, there came some cheesy soap opera that he had no plans to watch. He flipped through a few channels, catching about three seconds each of some public access conference, a kid's show that taught Italian, and an advertisement for Gutsy Gummies. Then, a familiar photo caught his eye, forcing him to stop on Channel 13 for a special report.

_**REMAINS OF GRAVE ROBBER FOUND IN WEST END**_

_GeneCops baffled by discovery; local criminals suspected of body-snatching_

That photo belonged to Charlie, and as far as he could tell, it was dated to about a year or so ago. The face of an androgynous reporter appeared below it one second later, the rim of their cue machine barely visible over the edge of the screen.

"As of midnight last night, the remains of Charlotte Burns, known grave robber and former fugitive from justice, were discovered and identified within a back alley of Anderson's Wharf. Burns had been shot on sight during a failed burglary attempt late last month, and had originally been marked for retrieval by GeneCo Waste Management employees. However, with no record of such a disposal in the archives, sources within the GeneCop unit now suspect higher criminal activity at work."

The news reporter's face switched to that of a female GeneCop; blonde, thin, and dead set on dishing out the punishment.

"Until more evidence presents itself, we intend to treat this as a case of outside interference," the Cop said, a subtitle identifying her as Lieutenant Sarah Shaw. "Knock down one grave robber, another two pop up in their place. For all we know, this known criminal could have had friends on the outside trying to arrange her own burial, or worse—taking her Zydrate as their own. No further questions, please."

"In other news today—"

_Click._

"_Higher_ criminal activity?"

Graverobber's thoughts went blank at the news story, and in their places came total confusion. What exactly had gone on in his absence from the streets? Had one of his friends tried to get Charlie's body back while he was away? Had some beggar on the street tried to strike it rich by getting into the glow? Just what was that police officer getting at?

"I'm done."

The sudden appearance of Amber in the doorway made him jump a good six inches.

"_Shit_!"

Gripping either side of the armchair, he took a few deep breaths to try and slow his heart rate.

"Can you do me a favor and _knock_ on the door next time?"

"Okay, okay, sorry."

She shifted from one foot to the other, the piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand.

"What I meant was, I'm done working on the paper."

"You finished all the questions, then?"

"I did."

"What did you come up with?"

"I'm going to do what's best for me, Grim."

"And that is?"

"I'm keeping the baby."

Some hidden corner of Graverobber's mind relaxed once he had heard Amber's decision. No kid of his would have to die today, especially not because he wanted it to happen. At the same time, his/her existence meant one less paying customer for Zydrate. He'd have to look around and find some rich replacement to make up the difference, and pray they weren't attractive and female.

On the other hand…would one less customer be so bad if it also meant one less addict, maybe two?

"All right."

He put away the thought of glass vials and tried to focus on saving up credits instead.

"All right, then. How many tokens will you need? I've got a jar back on the—"

"—Hold your applause," Amber interrupted. "I'm keeping it on one condition—neither of us can say you're the father."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** Never owned Repo. Does everyone understand? Great! This means I won't get sued!

**Author's Note:** Before I start this chapter…I would like to offer a round of thanks and hugs to everyone who has read and reviewed this first Repo story of mine. I started on March 29, 2009 with what originally seemed to be a wacky idea thought up in the parking lot of a grocery store. One sunny afternoon, a question popped up in my head: "What would happen if Graverobber and Amber had a kid together?" That idea stayed in my head for several hours, and by the end of March, I had the first chapter up on the forums as a test to see if at least one person would be interested in knowing what happened next.

Since then, I've submitted it to two other sites, earned a total of 48 comments, and at least 2,062 pageviews. It's been a crazy, happy, rocking good time so far, and for helping me get this far, I give kudos to the following people:

Betareject, ChaosAndMayhem, Danu_Scathach, EmmaLovesPavi, Liesie, LittleLotte, MagzAndLillie, Meggywebb, MizDictator, Necrophilic_Dreams, Ooihcnoiwlerh, RococoXLace, Tasareswrist, Tatsuchan244, Tiniwiel, Urania_Calliope, and XiaoGui17.

You guys are the best, and I know I would have never gotten this far without you. Thank you, thank you, thank you ever so much. Here's to nine chapters of Gramber goodness thus far, and to nine more if my inspiration continues in the fast lane it has been in for the past five months.

_And now, without further adieu…_

Chapter Nine: Wheeling and Dealing

"We can't say that I'm the father?"

Graverobber thought there might be a catch to Amber's decision, but he'd never suspected anything like this.

"Why not?"

"Because GeneCo's reputation could be ruined if we told the truth," Amber said matter-of-factly. "I mean…the C.E.O. sleeping with a Zydrate dealer? That alone would raise a lot of questions, and not just by our own investors. The general public—"

"—Would say our meetings aren't in the company's best interests?"

"Close, but they would also wonder why we get so many shipments of that stuff each week…and how. With our history, they might think I'm giving up one thing to get another…just like I used to."

A grimace appeared on his face once he'd heard her words. _Our_ history? Was he really that transparent? Would _everyone_ think he was in it for money and loose women, or was that just Amber's personal opinion?

"Hey, now, wait just a minute," he protested. "I work hard for a day's pay like any other normal person! I don't—"

"—Yes, but that's just it. The normal people won't understand that fact, let alone understand you. They'll think I'm helping you with illegal business!"

"You _did_ help me every time you walked down my alley."

"I _know_ that, Grim," Amber sighed wearily. "That's exactly why I have to stop right now. If I kept it up, then people would start thinking I arrange repossessions just to get drugs sent straight to my desk. They'd figure out a glow junkie was running the place, and they'd probably end up calling for my resignation. That would leave three people ruined and humiliated in the end, wouldn't it?"

_Three people. _

She would be right about that, especially with nine months of waiting and watching ahead of her. When did she start making so much sense in so little time?

"All right," Graverobber sighed, holding a hand up in surrender. "I'll cooperate and keep quiet about the kid. Is there anything else I should do while I'm here?"

"This is gonna take a lot more than cooperation," Amber continued, her tone becoming more urgent. "If anybody asks, we give Roger Graves credit for knocking me up."

"Roger Graves?"

"M-hm."

"And what else does this Mr. Graves do besides screw around with rich girls?"

"He was a pharmacist until he couldn't pay for his new heart. Now he's one of many repossession victims."

"You sound like you figured this one out real fast."

"I have. That's why I have to go back home."

"What for?"

"I figured the sooner I tell my brothers, the faster the story can get out. No one will ever guess what really happened."

"Two people already did."

"What?!"

His announcement had caused her to look a little rattled this time.

_Heh. Guess the old saying 'Misery loves company' just came true._

"There was this rumor on some gossip show right before I showed up here," he said flatly. "It talked about you buying some pregnancy test, and some of my friends were around while I watched it, and once I did the math, guess who came running?"

And right after she looked rattled, she started looking nervous. _Perfect._

"So they know about this, too?"

"Sure do."

"How many people have they told?"

"No one, and I can make sure they don't spill the beans…but you'll have to give me something first."

Amber's hand instantly strayed over to her purse. Leave it to her to think about money at a time like this.

"How much?"

"I didn't mean credits, gorgeous. I meant you stop coming around the alley and asking me for more Z."

In the middle of feeling like he just got stabbed in the back, he felt mischievous as well. Mischievous enough to set his own ground rules, and dare the woman in front of him to follow them.

"You think you have problems with a reputation? Imagine a load of people thinking you give all your best glow to only one person. _I'd_ have a lot more to worry about than questions, believe me."

"Fine," Amber said, looking him square in the eye. "No Z for me, no spilling any secrets for you. Do we have a deal?"

"We have a deal."

One quick handshake, and the matter was settled in an instant. Next up on the list—making a speedy getaway.

"My question is, do we clear out of here together, or does one of us go first while the other follows?"

"I can handle a trip in daylight easy enough," Amber said, rising from her place. "As for you, you can stay here until the sun goes down, or whenever you're usually working. How does that sound?"

"Sounds fair. I'll give it a shot."

"Thanks."

She tried to reach out, to somehow comfort him; but he had already headed towards the stairs. There was nothing left for her to do but go back the way she came, and pray her decision was the correct one.

***

It wasn't easy being the most attractive man on the island.

One moment, he had been healthy, whole, flawless, congenial, and adored by every GENtern who happened to cross his path.

The next, he felt hard concrete beneath him; Brother howling curses and threats above him; blood seeping backwards into his throat; women screaming around him; and pain _everywhere_.

Why, oh why did Luigi have to fly off the handle like that?

All he wanted to do was go have some fun with family. Was that really so wrong? It was a better idea than sitting at home all day, was it not? What else was there for him to do, read a book?

_Pf-f-f-ft. Some-a people can be so jealous._

Thanks to the rock-hard quality of Brother's fist and the potency of the strange, glowing blue liquid dripping into his I.V., The Pavi teetered on the edge of consciousness and unconsciousness; or, as his twisted mind labeled it, life and death. Either he would live to see himself made whole again, or he would live to see some flaw that could not be corrected…like a crooked nose…and then die from the sheer imperfection of it.

Not that the other person in this room cared…oh _no_. _Non si può negare la verità. _He was too busy wandering from one side to the other, first checking his watch and then peering at some other metal object on his wrist. Did he expect it to do something grand, or was he just bored?

Pavi watched Luigi through nearly-closed eyelids on purpose, for there was a lot he had learned over the years merely by pretending to be asleep. Whatever he witnessed now, he could most certainly use to his advantage later.

First came the slight click of a communication device flickering on; then a voice—old, serious, and vaguely British. Not the Death Doctor, surely…but someone different, much more experienced…perhaps even ten times wiser.

"Master Luigi Largo, I presume?"

_I'm-a over _here_, Signor!_

He would have said that if he had the choice of speaking out loud. Thanks to the situation at hand, however, he would have to let Luigi do all the talking.

"Live and in person," he said sarcastically, most likely with his trademark scowl. "What do you want?"

"I see you've received the communicator I sent. Excellent."

"Never mind this piece of junk, what's going on?"

"All in good time, young Master. Where are you now?"

"Hospital."

"What's your problem?"

"A freak for a brother and a slut for a sister."

_HA! Very funny, Brother!_

"No, I mean, what did they admit you inside for?"

"Nothing, you idiot! I'm waiting for Amber to quit fucking around and come back!"

A short pause, then:

"Your sister isn't missing, is she?"

"Not unless you call a mental health day 'missing'," Luigi snarled. "She didn't even tell me where she was going, stupid bitch!"

"So you say…"

A second pause; followed by the sound of someone clearing their throat.

"…Are you alone, Mr. Largo?"

"Depends. Does having an unconscious brother count as being alone?"

"Perhaps…which room are you in?"

Was it The Pavi's imagination, or did he hear footsteps in the hallway…?

"The door says 153 on the right. Why?"

"Listen."

_Knock, knock, knock._

"Oh, _shit_, he's here already?"

He opened his eyes just enough to watch Luigi scramble for the door, shoving the device under his sleeve as he went. Once the door was opened, in walked a thin, bony figure of a very late age; his face wrinkled, his expression cold. Pavi chose that moment to shut his eyes again, for he had no desire to find out how that man would react to being overheard or, more specifically, spied upon.

"A simple 'Good afternoon' would suffice, Master Luigi," the newcomer sighed, sounding slightly bored. "Surely my arrival did not come as a total shock?"

"When you said _anything_, I didn't know you meant coming in on time."

Ten seconds, and already Brother was fiddling with the handle of his knife. This ought to be good.

"Yes, well…messages do travel fast when sent over the right system. Perhaps I should start using direct electronic delivery."

"Hmph."

Luigi dropped into the nearest chair and glared at the man in front of him.

"Enough fucking around. What can you do for me?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're the one who asked me if there was any way you could help me out. Well, there is. Get me out of the slut's shadow!"

"Oh…? And how do you presume I should accomplish that?"

"Any way! Knock her out, string her up, I don't give a fuck! Just do it!"

Pavi found himself caught between laughing out loud and listening silently to the slow, dry chuckle of the visitor standing a few inches away from him. Should he pretend to go on sleeping and hear more, or go to sleep for real and miss the rest…?

"That may take a lot more time than you think, Master Luigi."

Answer—go on pretending. This conversation was too entertaining to miss, was it not?

"What do you mean, it'll take time?!"

"Time to plan, time to practice, and time to plot. You really don't expect me to be a miracle worker, do you?"

"_I don't fucking care what you want to do, you asshole! I'm the one stuck in the fucking mansion all day long, always having to follow her fucking orders_!"

Oh, look, he had the knife out! What fun! Was he going to use it? Would he make the old man _scream_?

"Do you really know how to use that knife, or are you just playing around with it?"

"Excuse me?"

_Mi scusi?_

"I noticed you're holding it like you're planning to stab me. That's perfect if you want me to die quickly, but bad form if you'd rather let me suffer first."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean your _technique_, Master Luigi. No doubt you enjoy taking your enemies out of your way, but have you ever thought about making them feel the most pain before the end?"

"Why the fuck would I want to do that? One good stab is enough, isn't it?"

_Knock, knock, knock!_

"You'll see what I mean…if you can stay calm and lie low for a while."

"Hello? Is anyone awake in there?"

There was an annoyed sigh from Luigi; then a curse-filled word of acceptance.

"There's a good lad. Now…pretend we had a short meeting. I'm about to let your sister inside."

"Fine. _Whatever_."

The next thing Pavi heard was the doorknob clicking open, followed by the sound of Amber's heels hitting the tile floor.

"There you are! I must have called home twelve times!"

"Good day, Mr. Largo."

The sound of the man's shoes continued into the hallway and beyond, and for a moment, Pavi swore he heard Amber gasp in surprise.

"Luigi…who the fuck was that?"

"Well-wisher, that's all."

The door closed with a bang, most likely because Luigi just slammed it shut.

"Did your little mental day go well?"

"I'll get to that in a minute. How's Pavi?"

_It's-a about time you mentioned me, Sister!_

"Still knocked out from that glowing blue shit."

A snort of laughter from Amber, then:

"Good place for him. I doubt he'd bother listening to my good news, stupid bastard!"

Good news…?

"What good news?"

"Well, see…it's a little hard to explain…"

"Try me."

Amber took a second deep breath and, after slowly counting to ten, finally spoke up.

"I'm pregnant."

Luigi didn't freak out or start yelling at her, much to her surprise. Instead, he looked as though she'd just told him a joke.

"What?"

"I said I'm pregnant. You know, going to have a baby?"

"Yeah?"

He might not see it, but he could tell Luigi was glaring just by the sound of his voice.

"How the hell did that happen?"

And now…it was time for The Pavi to wake up!

"_Yaw-w-wn-n-n_…"

"What the—"

"—Great, now look what you've done!"

"Me? I'm not the idiot who shouts all the time!"

"Now, _now_."

With one little word spoken two times in a row, he easily quieted them both.

"There's-a no need to fight. I just heard-a you talking, and wanted to know if everything is true."

He turned a curious eye upon Amber, his special smile frozen in place.

"Sister…did you say something about a _bambino_?"

"Yes, I did."

"And…?"

"I'm pregnant."

"Oh?"

Pavi let a total of five seconds go by without speaking; then looked straight at Luigi and gave him a round of applause.

"Bravo, brother! I knew you had it in you!"

"It's _not_ my fault, you fucking idiot!" Luigi howled. "Ask _her_ who she's been sleeping with!"

"_Perdono_?"

"You wouldn't know the guy," Amber said quickly. "We didn't meet until right after the Opera. I wanted to tell him, but…well, a Repo Man got to him first."

"And his name?"

"Roger Graves."

"Roger-a Graves?"

Even with his permanent smile, he could feel the rest of his face seize up in confusion.

"…Are you _sure_?"

***

By midnight that same evening, Graverobber had left the safe house behind him, his glow gun in its holster and seven vials snug inside his belt. It had been a slow, silent ride from the Center to the West, and neither the cool air nor the lack of traffic did anything to help raise his spirits.

Amber had pushed him away just when he thought she would ask him for a little help. A part of him had been welcome to the idea of giving her a hand, for it would mean their child might not have to face the same things he faced while living life on the streets. Instead of freely giving his assistance to her, however, he would have to pretend that he'd never brought the kid into existence at all. The arrangement felt like a stab to the heart, and he had no idea just how long the pain of it would last.

Because of this, the Jolly Roger stopped feeling like home and started looking like a ghost ship the moment he saw it in the harbor. With little else but the moonlight shining upon it, it could have very well been a carrier of undead sailors drifting from one place to the next, never reaching its true destination. It represented his past, described his present, and even gave him a glimpse of the future whether he wanted it or not.

Then he saw Shilo pacing back and forth on the deck the moment he drew closer, and as he watched her slow down enough to notice him, he was struck by the resemblance her black dress carried to that of another teenage girl he thought he knew. Carmela used to dress that way—once upon a time, of course. Thanks to adulthood and brutal reality, very little of the girl she had been remained in the woman she had become. Would she forget him, too, when she had already forgotten so much of who she used to be?

"Graverobber?"

Her voice still sounded quiet and nervous, yet she talked clearly enough for him to hear her on the spot.

"Grim, are…are you okay? Did you find your way back here without any trouble?"

Leave it to Shilo Wallace to worry about someone she barely knew. He wished he could share her concern tonight. She showed a lot more emotion in that instant than he'd felt during his long ride back.

"Well, I'm alive," he said flatly. "That's got to count for something, right?"

"What happened back there?"

A frightened expression immediately crossed her face.

"Oh, no, she's going to end it, isn't she?"

"No, no, she's going through with it. She'll carry the kid to term."

"Really?"

Her look changed from horror to cautious optimism. Imagine her of all people, happy at a time like this…

"Well…that's good, isn't it? You'll get to be a daddy after all, and…and help take care of him or her, right? And look after your new family?"

"No."

"What?"

"No, she sent me away. She's gonna raise the kid by herself."

"But…but that's _not_ fair!"

In the beginning, Shilo had been just fine with the idea of Amber Sweet having a child. The woman was miles away at the center of the island, and not only would becoming a mother keep her there; it would also distract her from getting suspicious and coming after her father's would-be heir to GeneCo.

Tonight, after learning the price that witch had made someone else pay for the child, she stopped being interested in the idea and started feeling downright annoyed.

"How can she say such things? You're the father, for crying out loud! It's your baby, too!"

"Will you keep your voice down?"

"It's _your_ baby, too! What the hell, Grim? How is she going to explain this kid once she starts swelling up like a balloon?"

"She's gonna lie and say Robert Graves did the job."

He sternly looked her straight in the eye.

"We're all going to lie—you, me, Norm, and Steve. All five of us have to keep the secret."

"No."

"It's for the best, Wallace."

"I can't!"

In an instant, her tears had come back.

"She can't make you leave them like this. Nobody should leave unless they've got no choice!"

"Kid, there _is_ no other choice," he insisted, his fist striking the air. "It's keep quiet or tell everyone, and have the entire island show up on our doorstep. Do you _really_ want these people following you after everything that's happened?"

With a small sniffle, Shilo mouthed the word 'no,' her damp eyes focused on the metal floor beneath her.

"I didn't think so," Graverobber replied. "You make sure you never tell, and make sure Steve and Norm do the same. Getting under GeneCo's radar is the last thing we all need."

As he watched the girl nod in agreement, it was as though someone had injected a shot of ice into his heart. He had been in that house with Amber, wishing she wouldn't use the kid as an excuse to run off with all of his hard-earned credits. Now, thanks to her decision and his rebuttal, he wouldn't have to worry about doing anything for his first son or daughter. He or she would grow up not knowing his name, seeing his face, or hearing his voice. They would learn nothing about the true father than conceived them, and would instead hear stories of the false father that had never existed. Perhaps they would even come to hate him as a common criminal, and never suspect just whose blood really flowed in their veins. It was the perfect mask to hide behind, and it would cause the most pain to those who dared to wear it.

Knowing Amber, she wouldn't have had it any other way.

"What happens now?" Shilo asked, her dark eyes full of worry.

"All three of you head east, and wherever you end up, check every hour to make sure no one is following you."

"And where are you going to go?"

"Back to my dumpster," Graverobber said quietly, turning away from her and heading back down the gravel path.

"You need anything, anything at all, come down there and give me a knock."

Shilo watched him drift silently away from her, disappearing into the night without a single backward glance. She didn't know how or when she would be able to help him with this problem, but somehow, she would find a way.

"Don't worry," she whispered under her breath. "I'm sure I will, and soon…"

-----------------------------------------------

Addendum:

Yeah, this was a really long chapter, but hey…I had to wrap some things up and set the stage for other things to happen. Gramber may be apart for now, but that doesn't mean they won't get together again somewhere down the line. ;) In the meantime, I hope everyone stays tuned, because this story isn't over yet.

And so…please comment, alert, and subscribe to 'A Little Help with The Agony'. This is TWB, signing off until Chapter 10 is up and running. Thank you and goodnight.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing about Repo! The Genetic Opera except this fan-fiction and another entitled 'The Magic Bracelet'. That's about it. :3

**Author's Note:** Thanks to MagzandLillie, Liesie, and Ooihcnoiwlerh for leaving feedback for Chapter 9. I realize that I may or may not have problems with Graverobber's characterization in that installment, but I would also like to add that none of us have probably seen him sad or disappointed before, so this is definitely new territory to explore. Hopefully I have it right on that subject, if not very close. :D

_And now, for my next trick…_

Chapter Ten: Three Months Later

The chill of winter arrived early in the month of December, and with it, a flurry of activity in the retail world. Clothing sets in various shades of red, green, blue, and white were set on display within the walls of various shopping centers. The autumn-themed decorations from Halloween and Thanksgiving were locked away until the following year, and in their places, up went snowflakes; snowmen and snowwomen; evergreen trees; candy canes; Santa Claus, reindeer, and elves; manger scenes; and every other decoration imaginable that had to do with the Christmas season. Gingerbread men, gingerbread houses, peppermint sticks, and decorated sugar cookies started appearing in the windows of candy stores and bakeries alike. Recordings of carols both old and new played over the radio stations at regular intervals, and the usual advertisements and posters issued by GeneCo were replaced by messages that read:

_Holiday Sale: 25% off All Lungs and Livers_

_No Payments Necessary until January 1, 2057_

_Hearts at Half-Price: Get 'Em While They're Fresh!_

In the midst of all this festivity, a small, bundled-up figure darted out from behind a stack of boxes, looked around at the empty alley before her, and then dashed behind an abandoned car. Nearly four months had passed since Shilo Wallace had last seen this alley; yet somehow she managed to remember every faded poster and cracked brick as though she had visited it only yesterday. Perhaps she could use this memory to her advantage, for there was one part of it she had not seen, and yet would still have to discover on her own—the dumpster.

Within the three months that Graverobber had gone missing, Shilo had searched dozens of dumpsters in the hope of finding him; but every time, she came up with nothing. Sometimes there would be discarded food and drinks, other times, wastepaper and other materials no longer needed by their owners. She had looked inside them all, only to miss both the smirking face and the mischievous eyes that would tell her she had been successful.

In spite of her failure, however, the teenage girl pressed on, eventually coming back to this place. It was one of the few places on the island she had not checked yet, as well as the first place she came to right after sundown. After a good, long look and a few right turns, she finally discovered it—the gray, metallic box shaped almost like a trapezoid and large enough to hold a person—or, in her case, large enough to hold a grave robber. She walked up to that box and rapped a few times on one side with her fist; then moved away quickly as the lid rose to reveal the head of a skeleton, its skull barely covered with a wig of long, black hair. Someone had a hand or two up there to control it, for a few seconds later, the skull began to speak.

"_Password_?"

"I don't know any passwords," said Shilo, trying to peer around the skull and see who else was inside the dumpster. "Are you in there, Graverobber?"

"_No password, no admittance_!" the skull cackled, letting the lid fall shut with a _bang_.

"Oh, for crying out loud…"

The girl let out a small sigh before trying again.

"…All right. What about 'please'?"

No response.

"Okay, what about, 'your friends are worried and need to see you'?"

Still no response.

"How about, 'Amber Sweet'?"

At this, the lid rose once again, only this time, it was Graverobber who stared at her instead of the talking skull's head. Shilo had to take a deep breath and rub her eyes before she could see him clearly, for she had to make sure she wasn't dreaming first. When his face didn't disappear, she let out a small sigh of relief and took a small step forward.

"There you are," she said quietly, glad that he hadn't wandered off or been shot during the months they had been apart. "Isn't it freezing in there?"

"Not really," he rasped, shaking his head. "I spent some time by a trash fire right before I dived in."

The last time she saw him, he'd appeared to be in good health, well fed and rested, even in high spirits. This time, there were traces of a beard on his face, dark circles under his eyes, and the smell of old wine on his breath. Shilo could only imagine what he'd been up to these three months past, let alone if he'd tried to take care of himself or not.

"Do you need an extra blanket?"

"I've got three of those with me already."

"What about something warm to drink?"

She watched him move instinctively to the right; then heard the telltale clink of two empty bottles knocking into one another.

"I meant tea or soup, not a '32 burgundy!"

" 'S none of your business what I drink, lady," Graverobber snapped. "An' anyways, s' not burgundy, it's merlot. Y'know what a merlot is, don't ya?"

"I know it's something to be avoided in cold weather," Shilo said defensively. "Are you out to give yourself hypothermia?"

The scruffy man said nothing, but instead took one look at her and burst out laughing.

"It's _not_ funny, Grim! People get admitted to the hospital for this sort of thing!"

"Who the hell do you think you are, my doctor?"

"I may not be a trained professional, but my father was a doctor. I happened to learn a thing or two from him, at least."

"Yeah? Well, you can tell your dear old dad to—"

Before he could speak further, his words were interrupted by a sudden fit of coughing.

"There! You see? I had a feeling something was wrong!"

Shilo reached inside and took hold of his left hand; then withdrew it once she felt how cold it was.

"You know, you _will_ freeze to death out here unless you put those bottles away and come inside. Do you want to see my new room?"

"Room…?"

"Yeah. Your friends found an unused attic in a nice apartment block down the street. It was the perfect place to hide someone who didn't want to be found, so…I said 'yes'."

"Huh. That must have taken an arm and a leg."

"Actually, it took two credits and a promise that I wouldn't give the landlady any trouble."

"Is that so?"

"M-hm."

She fiddled nervously with the edge of her sleeve before continuing.

"It's also good for helping a friend warm up and making sure they get cough medicine. What do you think?"

Graverobber took a good, hard look at the girl's face to check for any signs of lying. Her dark eyes didn't show any hidden mischief, nor did they twitch by accident. She also didn't hesitate to make eye contact, and the tiny smile she gave him definitely looked natural. Maybe it was time to leave this trashcan behind and see just what she had been talking about.

"All right," he said slowly, pulling himself up and pushing the lid out of his way. "Lead the way, kid. I'll be right behind you."


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I own Chrysalis, but I don't own Repo! The Genetic Opera. 'Nuff said.

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed Chapters 9 and 10 of this fic, as well as leaving feedback for The Magic Bracelet. I should have a poll in my profile now about which character I should write a fantasy one-shot for next, so…go vote, pretty please? Thanks! :3

_And now for the main event…_

Chapter Eleven: Mirror, Mirror

"So, I take it you've been hanging out here?"

Graverobber and Shilo had been careful to use the set of stairs that doubled as a fire escape, for there was no telling what the reactions of the other tenants would be if a known criminal suddenly showed up at the place they called home.

"Pretty much. I slept during the day and I looked for you at night, at least up until ten minutes ago."

Shilo giggled to herself as she reached the top of the stairs, turning around just in time to raise an eyebrow at him.

"Now that I don't have to track you down any more, I'll have to go find some book to read to keep myself busy."

"You say reading like it's a crime," he joked back, faking a frown.

"Well, it's a lot safer than breaking into someone's mausoleum, isn't it?"

They had reached the top floor of the apartment building, which meant that a final short walk into the hallway awaited them. Shilo allowed him to go through the number 1 door first; then followed along behind them until they had reached a trapdoor in the ceiling.

"Watch your head, Grim."

There was a cord attached to a small ring hanging down from that trapdoor, and one merely had to give the cord a short tug to make the door open. From there, a stepladder unfolded to give any visitors access to the attic above.

"After you."

Graverobber soon found himself in between two makeshift rooms that took up equal space within the attic. On one side, there was a battered desk, a weather-beaten chair, a bed that had seen better days, a metallic thing he had no name for, and a brown leather suitcase full of girl's clothing. On the other side, a half-polished sink, a cracked bathtub, and a semi-new washer and dryer waited in the shadows; complete with empty detergent boxes, half-used bottles of lemon-scented cleanser, and two loaded laundry baskets littering the floor.

"I use the restrooms on the third floor when I absolutely have to, and most days I visit this nice Chinese restaurant down the street," Shilo said proudly. "Nobody worries about me being on my own here. They hardly know I came in the first place!"

"Huh."

He took a look at the 'bedroom', then the 'wash room', and finally focused back upon her.

"Guess you're doing a lot better than I thought, kid. Where did you get that rusted piece of junk over there?"

"It's funny what a person can find if they look hard enough. I came across this broom closet on the ship, and there it was, waiting for me."

She made him sit down before the thing that looked like an undersized radiator; then pushed the dial to _6._

"Stay here for a moment, okay? I'm going to go check for a good decongestant and some zinc tablets."

"Sure thing."

Graverobber had no idea what those fancy medical terms stood for, but he nodded and went along with it anyway. As Shilo went to the second room in search of the needed medicine, he felt a small wave of hot air emanate from the space heater. He held his hands up before the machine first, and then rubbed them together to get the numbness out of his fingers.

Life had been pretty empty since the night he left the Jolly Roger behind. The double line of guards surrounding the Sanitarium Square Cemetery had dwindled after a while, leaving him to slowly return to his business as usual. The level of danger to his life went down, while the amounts of Zydrate and credits both went up. He'd even found a few of the usual hookers a bit prettier than usual on occasion, although he never felt serious enough to pursue any of them.

He'd loved this reversal of bad luck as much as any guy would, but it didn't hold a candle to meeting up with old friends. He'd wondered about Shilo a whole lot more since he made himself disappear, so it was good to see her looked after and comfortable in a place like this. Norm and Steve sure outdid themselves by picking these rooms out for her. Perhaps, if the kid was doing fine on her own at this moment, the others would also be as fortunate…?

"Here we go."

She set a little plastic cup of medicine into his right hand, followed by a zinc tablet into his left.

"The liquid stuff will help you breathe easier, while the solid stuff is good for a sore throat. Go on, drink it down."

The scruffy man did as he was told, but with a look that signified a foul aftertaste once he'd swallowed it.

"Better?"

"I'll give it some time before I tell you the results."

The kid's smile had lasted from the time she brought him here to the moment he downed that vile garbage. Was it just his imagination, or did she actually want him around?

"That's okay, it'll be better soon. Just give it a week or two, and you should be back to normal. Um…"

Her expression switched from happiness to hesitation. Probably his imagination after all; unless she was dancing on hot coals again and dying to tell him something important.

"Yeah?"

"…Do you think you could visit more often? After you get all your work done, I mean. I—I'd be glad to have s-someone else to talk to, if that's okay…"

He'd been the one who ditched her right after Amber had ditched him; yet in spite of all that, she wasted no time in asking him to come around more. He was the last person any decent girl would trust, but here she was, doing exactly that and not fearing any bad consequences.

_Funny old world. Should I feel honored or worried?_

Her dark eyes were so trusting when she looked at him. With a look like that, how could he even think about letting her down?

_Definitely honored._

"Sure, Wallace. I'll drop by right before the sun comes up again. How does that sound?"

She didn't look, sound, or act anything like Amber; yet he had a feeling she would give much better company than his skeleton friend ever could.

"Perfect! I'll see you later?"

"You got it."

Tonight, later wouldn't come fast enough to suit his needs.

***

"Finally, alone at last…"

Another busy day had come and gone, and once she had eaten her fill of the evening's ravioli and multigrain breadsticks, Amber Sweet had a few hours to herself before she turned in for the night. She decided to spend this length of time in front of her full-length mirror, where she could not only check for any unwanted food stains on her face and hands; but also monitor the steady growth of her belly and make sure no stretch marks had appeared.

"Three months down, six to go," she told herself, raising the edge of her blouse until a good twelve inches were visible in her reflection. At approximately three months along, her figure no longer looked straight from top to bottom, but rounded into a small bulge in front. She kept both hands pressed against it as she examined herself, quietly pondering what had changed so far and what more would change in the next six months.

In the beginning, she'd been a little cranky from the quick changes in her health. There had been a few instances of heartburn, which lead her to take a special tablet her doctor had prescribed to get rid of the acid reflux. It turned out to be safe for both her and the baby; for she felt no further discomfort once it took effect. Later, on some nights, she had dropped off right away from exhaustion; other nights, she took a bit longer to fall asleep because her bed felt rather uncomfortable. Her breasts became tender to the touch, and sometimes the bulge of her stomach felt the same way. Most of the time, she felt nausea of varying degrees of strength, and every now and then, that nausea would lead her straight to the nearest bathroom. It was a miracle she managed to get anything done at work these days, for there were times where she either could not focus on her daily routine, or else considered quitting to avoid the stress of it all.

Once she got home each day, however, one kind of trouble would only lead to another. Whenever she passed by him in the hallway or sat down beside him at dinner, Pavi would stare at her as though she had just stepped off of an alien mother ship. He had paid no attention to the idea of having a niece or nephew since she first mentioned it, choosing instead to remain engrossed in his collection of mirrors as though nothing had happened.

By contrast, Luigi not only acknowledged the baby's existence, he _loathed_ it. Ever since her announcement, he'd glared at her swollen belly with pure disgust, and often rolled his eyes whenever she excused herself to go throw up in the toilet. He either stood or sat as far away from her as he could, and if she tried to start up a conversation with him, he'd just turn away and ignore her on purpose.

"Just look at that _thing_," she'd heard him whisper to a GENtern one day. "Some ill-made brat in our house? Where the fuck is she gonna put it, the garage?"

During those times, it took all of her strength to keep herself from screaming and kicking them both in their most sensitive spots. She didn't know what lead her brothers to act the way they did, or what she could do to get them to stop. What she did know was that it hurt, and that there was a chance it would only get worse once her son or daughter was born. In the meantime, she would need moments like this to herself, if only to clear her head and not let anybody's reaction to her pregnancy drive her crazy.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the size of the tiny human being growing inside of her. He or she would be about three inches long by now; perhaps also with tiny arms and legs that might move now and then, even though she most likely wouldn't feel them yet. Their minute flutter of a heartbeat was one thing she did know about, for the doctor's stethoscope had already proven it was there.

_I'm going to be a mother._

The idea had horrified her once the pregnancy test came back positive, but lately, she had begun to wonder if it might not be such a bad thing after all. Even though she had no previous experience with children, she could always learn how to do the right things and act the proper way where her baby was concerned. Even though she'd rarely thought about anyone but herself her entire life, it was never too late to put away her selfish demands and expand her mind to look after a second person. With practice and patience, she could see herself becoming the sort of mother she'd never had—always paying attention to the needs of her son or daughter, keeping them out of danger, teaching them right and wrong, and above all else, never _ever_ pushing him or her aside just to spend extra hours at her desk in that first-floor office. That was a lesson she'd learned the hard way from her father, and she wanted nothing more than to keep herself from repeating it with her own child.

Then her mental picture shifted to include a third person, and something deep within almost made her cry out in anguish. Graverobber appeared before the mirror with her, standing right behind her with his arms around her waist. One hand rested beneath the bulge of her stomach, the other gently caressed it as though to reassure the baby of his presence. Their combined reflections made them look like the perfect couple, and at the same time, they were also the couple that didn't exist.

"He's _not_ here."

Amber shook herself out of her twisted fantasy, and opened her eyes to see herself alone before the mirror once again.

"He's not here because you sent him away, and he's not coming back. Snap out of it."

She dropped the edge of her blouse and made a beeline for her dresser, rummaging around in one drawer at a time until she'd found the nightgown she was looking for. She then changed into the pale blue cotton dress in silence, pulled back the blankets, and dropped into bed without a further thought on what her mind had created.

Once she had fallen asleep, her dreams were filled with soft whispers, gentle hands, and snow-white faces that welcomed her with dark-lipped smiles.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing from Repo! The Genetic Opera. I just write fan-fictions for kicks and giggles.

**Author's Note:** A general thank you to everyone who commented. I look forward to hearing from you continuously as this story progresses. :)

_And so, without further adieu…_

Chapter Twelve: The Bargain

_Mr. Luigi Largo_

_7 Stonewall Blvd._

_Sanitarium Square, CF 10000  
_

_6 December 2056  
_

_Dear Mr. Largo,_

_Thank you for your patience and continuous updates on the events inside your household. Is there a possibility for the two of us to meet tomorrow at three o'clock in the afternoon?_

_Sincerely,  
_

_Henry A. Chapman_

_

* * *

_

Mr. Henry Chapman

_13 Peterson Lane_

_West Haven, CF 10000  
_

_December 6, 2056  
_

_Dear Mr. Chapman,_

_Three o'clock tomorrow sounds perfect to me. The fat cow ought to be busy at work long before then._

_Your Humble and Obedient,  
_

_Luigi G. Largo_

* * *

By nine o'clock on the morning of December 7th, Luigi could already feel a change brewing amidst the usual silence of the mansion. Amber had been gone for at least half an hour, most likely already inside her large, comfortable office and therefore oblivious to anything he could get himself up to at home. Pavi's usual whining and begging for attention wouldn't start for another hour or so, and that allowed him a rare moment of peace and quiet along with his excitement over the highlight of the day. Six hours from now, he would finally do something with his life other than sitting around. The anticipation and nerves from that long wait were almost too much for him to handle; yet to keep from attracting any unwanted attention, he managed.

For the first few hours of his day, he locked himself in the library for 'light reading', which specifically meant flipping through about ten pages of a few novels, and then using whatever time was left to take those books back to his room for safe keeping. Breakfast consisted of two small croissants and one steaming cup of coffee, which thankfully was made by a GENtern who had half a brain to brew the caffeinated kind. He grudgingly decided to keep her around instead of shoving her out of his way, for those idiot assistants of his deserved a little re-education on the subject of how he liked his drinks.

By eleven in the morning, Pavi had woken up, dressed, eaten, and invaded his personal space to whine about finding something interesting to do. That was easily remedied with ten rounds of 'House of the Dead', a game that included shooting as many zombies as possible, and then watching their remains go down in a wave of blood and guts. The game also reported that Luigi had created a larger destruction toll of the undead, thus keeping the annoyance next to him from gloating over his own results.

By two in the afternoon, he'd finished off a large lunch, had a short rest, and polished half of his knife collection. He then spent the next half-hour preparing for the important meeting, making sure to put on his best clothes, slick his hair back, and double-check his Bowie knife to assure it was still sharp.

And at long last, by two fifty-five, he'd made the trip to West Haven in the next available limousine. No one had watched him leave save for a maid that was hard of hearing, and because she'd also come down with a case of bronchitis, he knew she wouldn't be able to tell anyone where he'd gone. The limo stopped before a weathered, black and white Victorian house at the end of Peterson Lane; its exterior half covered by a tangle of dead vines.

_Lovely place…for a_ beggar, _that is. _

He sidestepped both the cracks in the driveway and the holes in the sidewalk, reaching the faded boards of the front porch in one piece. Once there, it took a few raps of the silver knocker to get the attention of the doorman.

"Name…?"

"Luigi Largo," he replied, letting the scrawny servant get a good look at his knife holster.

"Mind getting the fuck out of my way?"

One second later he was admitted inside, complete with a few mumbled apologies and a series of bows. The doorman then beat a hasty retreat after letting him know that Mr. Chapman would be downstairs at any minute. In the meantime, he took a few seconds to look around at the place.

Whatever surprises this Chapman character had up his sleeve, Luigi could already see that extravagance wasn't one of them. The sitting room consisted of two white chairs set upon legs of dark wood; a matching table, desk, and two full bookcases; an active fireplace; and a length of dark blue carpet, but nothing more. Like his own room back at the mansion, it hinted at simplicity, and a life where no one thing ever got used to excess; let alone wasted or left behind, was the sort of life he'd dreamed about for a very long time. Finally, there was someone around to help him focus on his talents and put them to good use—but for what purpose?

"There you are, Mr. Largo."

As if by magic, the old man had appeared at the top of the stairwell, a silver-topped cane in one hand to help him keep his balance.

"Right on time, I see. Did you have an easy ride to my humble home?"

"I didn't have anyone tag along, if that's what you mean."

Luigi watched in silence as Henry made his way down the staircase, took a few steps into the sitting room, and finally occupied the second chair in front of the fireplace.

"_So_. Why did you decide to invite me to your shack after all this time?"

"I wanted to get to know my best friend's family, of course. How do you feel today?"

"Fine."

"Has your brother recovered from his injuries yet?"

"He's not in the hospital any more, is he?"

"No…"

"Then you've got nothing to worry about, do you?"

"I suppose not."

Chapman made a careful note of how fast Luigi changed subjects, for it indicated some deep, long hatred where any talk of Paviche was concerned.

"May I ask, then, how well your sister is dealing with her first trimester?"

"Her first _what_?!"

"I mean she has gone through three months already, and has six more interesting months on the way," Henry said, pretending to smile.

"Has she been coping well with the changes this far?"

"How should I know? She either shuts herself inside her room or stays in that fucking office all day!"

"You must have noticed something by now, young Master," Chapman pressed. "No doubt the rest of the family must be excited about their newest addition?"

"_Addition_?"

If he had the luxury of being outside, Luigi would have gladly spit on the ground in reply to Chapman's remark. Inside, he could barely swallow his own anger.

"I didn't ask for this brat to exist at all. It's not like she got my permission to get married first and _then_ screw around, now, is it?"

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. And even if she did, she wouldn't still be living in my house. Either she'd have moved out ages ago, or I would."

There was a telltale twitch in Luigi's right eye as he continued with his tirade.

"And don't think I don't know what the fuck she's up to. It's all about her precious little bastard these days."

"Oh…?"

"She wants to make the little monster her heir!"

As far as the older man could see, something had already snapped in the mind of his guest. He was the direct opposite of many other would-be uncles in this world, and yet perhaps also a lot more prone to outside influence…like the stranger sitting before him.

"And you know this for sure? You've seen her discussing the matter with her lawyer?"

"Not yet, but it's only a matter of time before she does," Luigi muttered through gritted teeth. "I've seen the way she looks at that thing in the mirror. She can't wait for it to be here! Once she pops it out, it's 'Hello new dynasty, goodbye old family'!"

"How medieval."

"She's wanted something like this to happen ever since she barged in and took that job for herself. Typical fucking vulture!"

"You seem very observant about this, ah…_situation_. How might a person go about fixing it?"

"I know it's gonna involve getting rid of the brat. I already got shoved out of the way for some other man's kid inheriting everything. I won't let it happen again."

_Definitely prone to outside influences._

"That's quite a goal you've set for yourself, young Master," Henry mused, leaning forward as though he'd taken new interest in the subject.

"I wonder…are you prepared to do everything in your power to achieve it?"

"Do dogs piss on fire hydrants?"

"I will take that as a 'yes'."

He rose slowly from his place in front of the fire, taking the cane into his right hand as he went.

"Now that you've told me your plans, it's time I told you mine. There's something important I've been saving right up those apples and—"

He instinctively cut himself off before the younger man noticed.

"Sorry, bad habit. Up the _stairs_ is what I meant. If you will excuse me…"

He took a moment to go back the way he came, climbing the stairs and traveling through the hallway until he'd retrieved a small wooden box from the study. He then returned to the spot where Luigi waited and, when the younger man's attention was upon him, slowly slipped the lid off.

"Another knife?"

The object was a lot smaller than Luigi thought it would be, but it still didn't fail to annoy him.

"Why would I need one of those? I've already got at least fifty stashed away in my closet!"

"This is no ordinary knife," Henry explained. "I happened upon it right after a criminal broke into my house fifty years ago."

"What happened?"

"The overture to the great symphony we now call the organ failure epidemic. Fifty years ago, there was an outbreak of a much weaker disease in the West End of London. That one might have been contained in a short amount of time, but it carried at least three similar symptoms as its later descendant. At least twenty-five years was enough for it to mutate into something much deadlier...as I'm sure you might remember?"

"I've heard of it," Luigi snapped, recalling the reports of all the death tolls as well as his own double lung transplant.

"What happened next?"

"Chaos."

The look in Henry's eyes changed from casual to serious.

"What the true cause of the outbreak was, no one knew for sure, not even after half a century of research and investigation. What survivors like me remembered was that it happened during a visit to the movie theatre, when a man who sounded ill with a cold suddenly complained of a bad headache…and then suffered a nosebleed on the spot."

"Did it make him want to cut a bunch of people open?"

"Patience, please, I'm getting there. The ushers were quick to get everyone out one moment after that same man began convulsing in his place. Since neither my younger brother nor myself were normally allowed out of the house at that time, we decided to call up a friend from school and ask to stay at their house until we could sneak back home the next morning."

"And did you make it back?"

Henry went through another change of expression, only this time, it switched from serious to disgusted.

"By the next morning, five more people had fallen ill, while the first man had been dead on arrival at hospital. That was the outbreak's happy beginning, and it took at least fifty people along with it until the disease control workers decided to step in."

"And the burglar that used your utility knife?"

"Once my entire blended family was infected, I was left to my own devices back at home…and he did _this_ to me."

He pulled up his sleeve to reveal a crooked white scar just above his elbow; then ran a finger across it to indicate the slicing action of the blade.

"He nicked your arm?"

"Not quite. He slashed my hand off to keep me from fighting him."

"And then?"

"I used my remaining hand to take his knife away, and then I gave him a taste of his own blade."

That was Henry's first lie, told straight to Luigi's face without a single twitch to signify it. In turn, he merely nodded and accepted it as the truth.

_How _very_ trusting._

"Someone helped me later on, though. They saw to it that I received an operation to give me a new hand."

"GeneCo?"

"None other than. It was long before your father assumed control, you see, yet at the same time, the company had already grown accustomed to arranging trades. A news interview for a set of lungs, a success story for a heart, that sort of thing."

"And what did you to do return their favor?"

"What I've waited to tell you all along."

Henry lifted the utility knife out of the box and carefully took it into his hand.

"On the night of my twenty-first birthday, I made a special promise to Rottissimo Largo, your father and the new head of GeneCo. I swore my loyalty to him as the first Repo Man, and I agreed to teach any and all new recruits who applied for that same position. For twenty-seven years, I kept that oath, only to receive an early retirement thanks to some odd twist of fate on your father's part. However, seventeen more years were enough to remind me how much I missed that job…and now that Rotti and the washed-up head Repo Man are no longer with us, I'd very much like to start again."

He let out a small sigh, twisting the handle of the knife between two fingers.

"Unfortunately, my age and my health would make that a bit hard to pull off. I'd need someone quite younger and stronger to do it…if they wanted something to do with their lives besides sit at home."

"You mean work," Luigi snapped. "Why are you asking me to work? Aren't the peasants below me supposed to worry about that?"

"The people beneath you don't understand what should have been rightfully yours," Chapman answered, softening the tone of his voice on purpose.

"You want the honor and privilege due any firstborn son, do you not? That will take practice and focus upon your skills in order to attain such things. As for me, I want nothing more than to fulfill my vow and finish what I started. Why leave everything up to a useless sister and her baseborn brat? Should we not plan ahead for when she's at her weakest, and then end its life before it becomes a problem?"

His words soon had the effect on Luigi that he originally intended, for he saw the younger man loosen up a little and nod in agreement. Just like the spider and the fly, he had baited his trap well.

"All right. I'll take the position, but I'd better get the most money for it…or else. And don't expect me to have any partners, either. I work alone, you got that?"

One flick of his knife was enough to drive the message home. Chapman was quick to give his approval, if only to save his own skin for some time yet.

"By all means, young Master. I'll see to it that I recommend you to Amber for the highest pay rate and that you go solo…just as long as _you_ tell no one else the real reason for you joining the repossession ranks."

"Deal."

His right hand connected with Henry's left, sealing the bargain with a handshake.

"Excellent. We'll have to go through the usual background check and interview process, you see, but after that, you'll be cleared for orientation, training, and finally your first case. Please expect my next letter to arrive within two weeks."

"I'll be waiting."


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** If you don't know that I didn't write or produce Repo by now, you probably should.

**Author's Note:** My thanks to all who commented for chapter 12 of this fic, and also for poking me into updating regularly. I just love all the inspiration I'm getting from this movie, as well as a few other sources that help me create original characters that aren't too perfect or exist only as romantic interests for canons. This next chapter ought to be a good dark one, because it's a twisted guy's version of Cinderella, Repo style. Hope you like it. :D

_Nothing up my sleeve…presto! _

Chapter Thirteen: The Repo Teacher's Tale, Part One

For Henry Arthur Chapman, 13 September 1991 was not the start of his natural life on Earth, no matter what the date said upon his birth certificate. That time came some fifteen years later, when he ceased to have an obscure existence under the thumb of his stepfather and began to truly feel alive.

In the beginning, the events that came before that precious year of 2006 read like a twisted version of Cinderella. He had been born to Barrett and Darcie Chapman, he'd made the acquaintance of a baby brother, Jonathan, when he was two years old, and the four of them had lived a relatively quiet life in the West End. Seven years earlier, Dad had been taken out of the picture for his part in setting off a series of bombs in various locations within London. Six life sentences guaranteed he'd never see his family again, and so Mum thought it better to divorce him rather than stay loyal to a man who had been found guilty of mass murder.

Four years earlier, she fell for some low-level policeman from Bloomsbury, giving her what she thought was a well-deserved release after loving a man on the wrong side of the law. Since he'd also just gotten out of a bad marriage and had two of his own to look after, it seemed like true love. True enough to make them finally get married two months earlier, and make the now-teenage Henry suffer _sadly_ ever after.

A week had not yet gone by when Henry learned how different this new 'father' was from the one he had been born to. The summer of 2006 guaranteed that both he and Jonathan lived under strict supervision while school at Eton College was out, so instead of enjoying themselves at the movie theater as they had done before, they were kept inside every night to keep up with their homework, as well as to make sure they didn't fall in with the 'wrong crowd'. 'Dad' had seen a lot of cases where seemingly normal boys joined gangs and turned to the dark side, so rest assured, he wasn't about to let the same thing happen to his own set of stepsons.

And not only did they have to endure a strict regime under that policeman, Officer Leonard Davies, they also had to deal with the shenanigans of their two new stepsisters, Nancy and Violet, whom Henry secretly nicknamed Ninny and Vapid. They assumed the middle part of Mum's life where Henry himself used to be, manipulating her into visiting the zoo with them; pulling her along on several window-shopping expeditions, and God knew what else fourteen-year-old girls did in their spare time. This situation would have been completely unbearable, if not for Johnny's support and willingness to distract him from his moments of misery.

"I know what we can do," he whispered to his brother one day, when Mum had gone out with the girls again and 'Dad' was busy making calls upstairs.

"One of us can pretend to go get the mail, sneak around to the back door, let the other one out, and then we both can dash off to the cinema."

"What if he looks out the window?" Henry had asked, frowning over a particularly hard chemistry equation. "One peek outside, an' then we're both caught."

"Hm, I'll have to get back to you on that…"

He'd expected at least a week would go by until Johnny came up with a plan; yet quite surprisingly, the opportunity of their escape from the house happened not only earlier, but from a much different source. After four days of waiting, Mum and 'Dad' surprised them by deciding to go out of town for a 'romantic night alone', and would not return until early the next morning. Two hours later, Ninny and Vapid announced that a friend had planned a sleepover, which would also bring them out of the house until early the next morning. With almost a whole day to themselves, he and Johnny now had the trip to the cinema they had been looking for.

It was a wonder either of them could keep a straight face through all the goodbyes, rules, and warnings; yet both of the brothers successfully pulled it off. Neither their mother nor their stepfather suspected anything strange about their good behavior, for they had adjusted surprisingly well to the new routine at home. Nancy and Violet didn't give them a second look either, for their minds were set on the fun night ahead rather than the silence they'd temporarily left behind. As the door closed behind them all, Henry turned straight to Johnny and gave him his best mischievous grin.

"Looks like the jail's open, little brother," he announced triumphantly. "Are the bikes still in the garage?"

"Sure. You got the money?"

"Right here in my pocket."

"Okay, then…let's get out of this prison."

The world outside the front door never looked as good as it did that afternoon. The sky was a clear, bright shade of blue; the temperature was warm and breezy all at once; and any neighbor who came outside went about their own business rather than intrude upon the boys'. It was an easy ride to the Prince Charles Cinema, where both brothers got a laugh out of the message, '_Look Out Lads, Here Comes Trouble'_.

"Which of us were they talkin' about, me or you?" Johnny had joked after they'd paid admission to a horror movie, got their snacks and drinks, and found their places in the front row.

"All depends on who they ask, Mum or Leonard," he had laughed back, making himself comfortable. One by one, a few groups of people made their way into their seats, and after about five or six minutes, the whole room went dark as the previews began.

Ten minutes into the movie and one box of Minstrels later, Henry noticed that the man sitting right in front of Johnny had a giant tissue or two held over his mouth, holding back whatever germs tried to come out from his repetitive coughing.

_Probably a bad case of allergies_, he had thought at the time. _Or else an unexpected cold? Ah, whatever, we'll deal with it anyhow._

He watched for a moment as the man pulled out something small, thin, and wrapped in paper; then popped a cough drop into his mouth. His hacking ceased for about two minutes and then started again, only to sound a lot harsher, almost painful. The tissues he coughed into came back a dark shade of red.

"Psst! Psst, Hen!"

"What?"

Johnny had to lean in close for his older brother to hear him correctly.

"What's goin' on up there?"

"Tuberculosis, I'll bet," Henry had answered, his voice remaining calm. "Don't worry, it's not a contagious thing. Poor old bloke forgot his meds, I reckon…"

"Ugh-h-h…"

The man's health continued to change before the boys' eyes, for in the next ten seconds, he'd risen from his seat and started moving towards the nearest exit.

"Stupid headache…shouldn't have traveled o…overseas…"

He'd barely made it a few steps before blood started to drip from his nose, causing a few people to move to different seats while others shifted about nervously in their places. Somewhere in the back of the theatre, an usher had stood up quickly and ran towards the man, their dim flashlight swinging back and forth like a mad lantern.

"All you all right, sir? Do you need any help?"

"Bloody h…hell…"

It was then that the man collapsed to the floor, his head, arms, and legs twitching and shaking as though someone had held an invisible live wire against him. All focus on the movie was forgotten as the entire theatre reacted—the film reel stopped moving on the spot, the lights came on again, and the other two ushers raced to evacuate the place.

In the middle of the chaos, Henry did not let Johnny out of his sight for the slightest second, instinctively keeping him close by from the time they walked past the fallen man to the moment they walked through the cinema's doors. Both held their sleeves over their mouths and noses just in case, not knowing whether or not the stranger's sickness was a contagious one.

"You think he's gonna be all right, Hen?" Johnny had asked, eyes wide with fear.

"The docs can worry about him, it's us I'll watch over," Henry had answered, dropping his voice to a whisper.

"Neither of us was here today, you got that? We act like we was at home all day, no matter what that cop says to us. Our secret?"

"Our secret."

***

"Stop playin' with your toast and eat it."

"I want to call Mum."

"Our secret, Johnny. Eat your breakfast."

"Make me."

Even with their mother's return hanging over their heads, Henry's stance about last afternoon refused to be changed.

"We've already been through this, Johnny. Nothin' happened yesterday, 'cause we never left home. Too late to change your mind now, my china."

"What if that man had a disease, Hen?" the younger boy pressed, shoving his plate of toast away from him. "What if he was contagious?"

"D'you feel sick at all?"

"Not really…do you?"

"Nope. There you go, it's probably not contagious. Maybe it was a strike of TB and a bad day for epilepsy."

"And the bloke's nosebleed?"

"Stress. Now are you gonna eat that, or do I get some bread to go with my sausage?"

"Fine…"

Johnny yanked the plate back and dug in, but not without glaring at Henry in annoyance first. In reply, the elder of the two brothers smirked and glanced over at the clock on the counter, its numbers reading 8:55 A.M.

"…When did Leo say they'd be back?"

"Probably nine or ten o'clock. Why?"

" 'Cause I think I'll finish this up in my room. Call me if they show up early."

"What's gotten into you?"

Johnny barely looked his way as he exited the kitchen.

"Headache."

By the time Mum walked back through the door, the entire downstairs of the small house looked as clean as how her family had originally left it. Violet and Nancy sat in front of the television set, half watching and half chatting away about all the fun they had last night. Henry remained quiet at the kitchen table, too absorbed in a book to notice the program. As for Johnny, however, he was nowhere in sight.

"Hen?"

She walked straight up to her oldest and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Where's your brother?"

"Probably still upstairs," Henry replied. "You want me to go get him?"

"No, no, it's all right, I'll go," his mother told him, motioning for him to stay seated. "I still haven't asked him if he needs any laundry washed…"

She walked up the stairs and to her sons' room without a sound, not noticing a single thing wrong in Henry's response or the curious look her husband gave him before she vanished. It wasn't until she saw Johnny holding a handful of bloody tissues that her blood pressure spiked, forcing her to spring into action.

"_Leo_! Leonard, start the car! We've got to get to the hospital!"

The next two days felt too much like a nightmare to be real. The anonymous man who was later identified as William Jeffries had first infected Cassie Hensley and Patrick Parr in the ticket booth, only to move on to Lillian Brady, Lucy Edwards, and Jonathan Chapman in the third row of a horror film showing. Mrs. Brady happened to cough in front of Glen Larson in an elevator; Miss Edwards touched a doorknob that later made contact with Wilda Browning and Maricela De Jesus, and Jonathan Chapman's bloody nose helped his illness spread straight to his mother, Darcie Davies. Where there had once been a quiet, fairly peaceful neighborhood; there were the sounds of people rushing in and out of their houses, loading up their cars with belongings and family members; and either driving as fast as they could away from the West End or towards the nearest hospital. It didn't matter about whether the patients were old and frail or young and strong, because the sickness loved to attack both sides of the age spectrum. The talking heads of the media called for calm, of course, but very few individuals heeded their message. After all, it was impossible to be calm when the strange new illness kept coming every twelve hours, especially in one's own family and friends.

Life had been so normal before, and so very, very chaotic now.

Blood was not supposed to flow so freely from a younger brother's nose, for there had been no injury to cause such things to happen.

Mothers were supposed to be happy, healthy, and comforting; not motionless upon a bed, pale from sickness, and unable to speak a word.

The doctors and other hospital staff always knew how to treat a patient, and rarely failed to cure them of whatever sickness or injury they had received. Why, then, were there no answers or cures for this disease?

His real father should have come quietly through that door and offered to take him home, to let him rest from all of the madness surrounding him.

Instead, he got to deal with his worthless stepfather, that authoritarian cop who pulled him away from Mum's unresponsive body and insisted 'there was nothing more they could do'. He'd been forced into that car against his will, taken away from the family he had left, and driven straight back to that house of strangers. And once the bastard decided to drag him upstairs to his room, it got even better. There might have been something in that tea the man gave him, something strong enough to knock him out until early the next morning.

Henry woke up alone in that room after that unknown substance wore off, his eyes bleary and tired, his heart pounding in his ears. All night long, the bad dreams had come and gone, each with some vaguely familiar voice warning him to leave the house as fast as he could, for staying there meant certain death. Those dreams told him that he had to return to the hospital as soon as possible, yet when he tried to stand up, he felt a sharp tug on his left wrist, and saw that someone had snapped a set of handcuffs around it, locking him to the bedpost.

"What the _hell_…?!"

He had a feeling Leonard wasn't right in the head, yet this only proved that he was freakin' _mental_. What did that idiot think he wanted to do, jump out of the window?

"Na-a-an!"

He'd have to take a gamble and convince one of the twins to bring him the key. If either of the girls requested it, he'd do all their damned chores for a month…just as long as they set him free first.

"Nancy, can you give me a hand here? I'm a bit stuck…"

There was some movement from down below, some bit of furniture being pushed aside, and then he heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs towards him.

_Let it be one of the girls,_ he thought, straining to detect any characteristic that would show him they were on their way. _Don't let it be that sodding cop…_

One moment later, his wish proved unfulfilled, for Leonard Davies appeared in the doorway.

"She won't come, Henry," he said gruffly. "I've asked them both to stay downstairs."

"Lucky me," Henry muttered under his breath, falling back against the pillows.

"I should think so, boy. The last time you got left to your own devices, you disobeyed the house rules."

"_Your_ rules is more like it," the teenager sighed, giving his stepfather a dark look. "Last time I checked, Mum didn't go along with it."

"That's because we discussed it over the phone," said Leonard, entering the room. "And while we're on the subject…what did you think you were doin', running off like that?"

"What were you thinking, locking us up all summer?"

"Now, listen, you're in no position to yell at me like that—"

"—I'll yell _anytime_ I damn well please, this is my house, too—"

"—All I did was look out for you, you've had loads of schoolwork to keep up with—"

"—Even the best students are allowed to enjoy themselves—"

"—And you'll have an easier start of term if you don't overlook a single assignment—"

"—I'm not your bloody prisoner, you sick old fool, I've not committed any crimes—"

"—And if you'd just stayed inside in the first place, maybe Darcie and Johnny wouldn't have gotten sick!"

"What did you say…?"

Henry heard a strange voice whispering just under Leonard's words, and with it, a strong desire to knock him to the ground began pumping through his veins.

"I said your family wouldn't be sick right now if you'd only followed my instructions, boy," Officer Davies replied sternly.

"One of 'em's near death this very moment, and the other won't have much longer to wait! Is that the price y' wanted to pay to have your fun? Will you wait for 'em both to die, and then go cause trouble whenever and wherever you're able?"

_End him,_ the voice whispered, making itself known just a few inches away from his right ear. _Get him out of the way, and then get to your mother. Get to her as fast as you can, there isn't much time…  
_

"Dear, dear, you _are_ mental," Henry whispered, his blood boiling from within. "You think I asked for this, Leonard?"

"Dad."

"_Leonard_! My real father's been locked away by scum like _you_! Why the bloody hell should you take _his_ place?"

"Because he's a _convicted_ killer, and I won't live to see you turn out the same way," Leonard shot back, his voice dropping to a low growl.

"Your mother already lost one man to criminal acts. D' you think she can stand to lose another?"

_End him, end him, end him, end him…_

"_Do you_?"

Henry pretended to back down from the conversation, to lower his eyes and take several deep breaths as though he'd just gotten the toughest love of his entire life. Leonard must have been quick to accept his silence as a last-minute conversion, for he'd cleared his throat and found a nearby seat before continuing.

"I didn't think so, and I'm glad you agree, Chapman. If we want to get through this—which we will—there's gonna have to be a few changes around here, and that includes no more leavin' the house without permission. If-if it's a movie you want—"

Just like the man in the movie theatre, Leonard's good intentions vanished in the middle of a coughing fit. Henry's focus upon him didn't waver for a second, even when the older man rummaged around in his pockets for a loose tissue.

"Are you giving me a peace offering, then?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, I suppose I am. Best we stick together in times of trouble, right?"

"I suppose so."

He let another moment of silence pass between them on purpose, and then chose to speak up again.

"Say, Leonard—er, I mean Dad—d'you think you could hand me that boxcutter?"

The policeman glanced at the postage tool left on the floor; then looked back at his stepson.

"What do you need a boxcutter for?"

"It used to be my dad's. I like to hold it from time to time. Makes me feel better, you know?"

"All right, don't see why not…there you go."

The moment Henry had the tool in his hand was the same moment he released the catch on the blade.

"You really shouldn't have done that, _scum_."

For the rest of his life, blood would never look as good as it did when it flowed freely from his stepfather's throat.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own Repo. Is there an echo in here?

**Author's Note:** Thank you to Liesie, ChaosAndMayhem, Yukimura Hina, Common Blood, and Tatsuchan for leaving feedback. You're the best and you always will be. How about a chapter for Halloween tricks and treats? :3

Chapter Fourteen: The Repo Teacher's Tale, Part Two

Henry just didn't know when to stop misbehaving.

He'd nearly gone ballistic when another detainee kept calling him 'Stumpy' over and over and _over_ again.

That stupid comment earned the other boy a slash across the face with a rusted spring torn out of a mattress.

That act of violence earned him some time in the 'Rosy Room', a part of the detention center meant to calm the detainees down thanks to its bright pink nature.

It was rosy, all right, but it didn't make him feel any better.

His mind didn't want to calm down, either, for once it had lead him to pick up a blade and hurt someone else, it would never put it away. All he wanted to do was imagine all sorts of ways he could make the boy suffer further, and every way involved a sharp object in his right hand pulled across unprotected flesh, which in turn yielded a good amount of blood to please his eyes.

Unfortunately, the People In Charge thought he'd had enough fun when he got rid of The Stepfamily. These days, they took a page out of Davies' book by locking him up in a room. The difference between them and the Officer was, they rarely took the locks off.

And, since those same People had just put him inside the Great Time-Out, he could count on being here for the minimum of an hour, or the maximum of whenever they remembered to let him out. There was almost no way of knowing the time in here, not when there were so few clocks to be seen and no one friendly enough to share the digits on their watches.

For all he knew, anywhere from one day to one year could have gone by…not that it would have changed anything.

"…I see y'got Chapman isolated for a while…"

A hall volunteer happened to pass by the Rosy Room's door, and along the way, he had to blab about it to another of his station.

"…What did the lad do this time, bite you?"

"Nope, he went and attacked a boy with a box spring. Wish he had, though, I'd give _him_ a lesson in manners …"

"…Tha's the same thing Officer Davies thought he'd do when he took 'im in, and look where it got the chap."

One man's voice might have dropped to a whisper, but Henry could still hear him loud and clear. The crack between the wall and the doorjamb had already made that possible.

"I know, I read the story. Did he really use that boxcutter, or did he just stand back an' let the plague do his dirty work for 'im?"

"That boxcutter was the blighter's weapon of choice. My guess is, he lured the Officer into the room by pretendin' to make nice; then offed 'im without a second thought."

"What did Chapman do then?"

"Right after he takes out the Officer, he goes and cuts off 'is own hand. The good Officer had 'im chained up, but it didn't last all that long. And as soon as he stops the bleedin', guess what 'appened next? He went downstairs an' offed _both_ of those poor girls, that's what!"

"Rotten little monster, ain't he, Nicky?"

"Aye, he's rotten to the core, all right. The old apple never falls far from the tree, do it?"

The chatter of the two hall volunteers carried well through the corridors long after they had turned the corner.

"Indeed it don't, mate, like father like son…"

"Should 'ave had him locked up forever in prison, they should. I'd have done the same to the younger Chapman as they did with the older one…"

"'Tis a shame that Youth Justice Board's started sympathizin' with the kids, ennit?"

_Shame…_

Mum was long gone by the time he reached her bedside, so she didn't have to feel any more shame about associating with criminals and killers. She'd gone through enough trouble by being married to one. Lucky for her, she never had to learn she'd given birth to one as well.

Then again…she should have been even more ashamed that she'd ever met that cop, and let him turn the older of her two boys into the empty, soulless thing that sat alone in the juvenile detention cell. All that shouting and those watchful eyes to make sure he didn't end up in the wrong crowd…and he'd gone down the wrong path anyway. He was the wrong crowd now, and there was no going back, not after the way he'd used that boxcutter.

_Shame._

In turn, he'd felt just enough shame after losing both her and Johnny. All that time beside them, all those hours hoping for a miracle, and he received nothing in return but a pair of bleeding corpses where his family had once been. There were only two Chapmans now, and both of them had chosen the wrong side of the law.

_Shame._

He'd get out of here in about six years; that much had been promised him by the Crown Court. Some of those witnesses and at least one lawyer had seen to that, for they'd skillfully painted his case as a result of abuse and self-defense. Not only had he been denied the same joys so willfully given to his stepsisters, but he'd also protected himself against the plague the best way he knew how—kill anyone he deemed infected. If this were a movie, he'd have given them all awards for their captivating performances. Too bad he was stuck here instead, broke, alone, and minus one hand.

_Shame._

His focus upon the wall in front of him wavered long enough to get a glimpse of his self-inflicted injury. Where once both of his arms ended in wrists, joints, palms, and fingertips; now only one could boast of that privilege. The other was little else but a useless stump; the remnants of its muscles, skin, and nerve endings narrowing into a fleshy, dull point. Whatever tasks he couldn't do with just one hand, he had to ask others to give him a little help to complete them successfully.

_Shame._

They said some animals caught in traps learned to bite off their trapped legs in order to escape. If there was any truth to that statement, then perhaps he could be classified as a trapped human. How could he not be, if one noted the way he sliced off his hand to escape the handcuffs?

_Shame._

Very little was permitted on his cell walls, save for a few photos and a plain, black-and-white calendar that told him he'd lived there for about a month. His fifteenth birthday had come and gone, whether or not he'd noticed it. Under different circumstances, Mum would have sent him a birthday card from home; Johnny would have celebrated with him after classes at Eton; and after he'd taken a second piece of treacle tart to commemorate the day, he would have gathered up his mates and planned a big prank against those Collegers who lived by the school entrance. All that would have happened in some other reality, however.

The stuff that made up his time in limbo were death, blood, glinting blades, silent screams, boneless judges, and blank-eyed wardens who spoke to him no more than twice a day. He could think and dream all he wanted about home; yet the cold hard truth remained—home now slept six feet underground in two pine boxes, never to walk through the doors of the detention center and spend a single minute more in his company. There were only two Chapmans to think about now—the killer that spent his time far away under maximum security, and the killer who lived inside these walls, shared his name, and showed his face when he stared into the mirror.

_Shame. Shame on you…_

***

Henry expected not to see daylight from anywhere else besides his window for a very long time. What he didn't expect was that a different form of daylight would come looking for him instead.

On a chilly morning at the beginning of October, the warden entered his cell with a visitor in a black hat, a black jacket, and a pair of dark glasses hiding their eyes from view. He had first believed that the plague was about to go through its second round of claiming lives and splitting families, and that the man in black was a plague doctor about to give him news of his impending death from the sickness.

Once that man began to speak to him, however, his ideas about the stranger faded away in an instant. There was talk of freedom from his prison, life started over with a clean slate, guaranteed work across the sea, compensation for his part in that work, and a home of his own in due course…and all he would have to do was agree to become a test subject for a 'new transplantation surgery procedure', exactly as his visitor claimed.

It took Henry thirty seconds to agree to the bargain, and another minute and a half for him to mark his name upon the paper that the man presented to him. From that point onward, it took another three weeks for some different People In Charge to receive government approval for their plan; and then about three or four more hours to get him on the next flight headed for the United States.

The moment he left his cell behind forever was worth all that time, and then some. He tasted open air and felt unfiltered sunshine on his face for an instant; then disappeared into the safety of a limousine. It wasn't until he saw a few jack-o-lanterns lined up on the sidewalk that he remembered the date.

_22 October, 2006._

Nine days remained until at least one-quarter of the planet celebrated Halloween, yet for him, the celebration was just beginning. He was the sole passenger on the plane that took off from Heathrow and landed at JFK, and save for a word or two directed at the stewardess, he remained silent for the extent of his journey in the air.

_Trick-or-treat…_

There was no need to watch the spooky in-flight movie, not when he sat in the middle of his own horror flick. Neither did he have any urge to visit the food courts inside the airport, because he had already figured out that their fare wouldn't be the same as a good serving of fish and chips. And when it came to that ferry boat to take him off of the mainland, thankfully he had just a handful of other passengers to deal with…and none of them paid him any attention or tried asking him questions, thank _goodness_.

He arrived on the island of Crucifixus right after a storm had swept over it, driving its inhabitants indoors save for a scattering of fishermen and other people of the sea gathered around the coast. Fifty years ago, the island was a literal backwater location, a place no normal person would visit unless they wanted to drown their sorrows, drug themselves to sleep, or spend the night in a house of ill repute. The GeneCo of half a century past was no more than a white, three-story establishment jutting up from a concrete pavilion, offering up organ donation services, disease research, and other procedures with no dark dealings or bloody strings attached.

A few miles away from that benevolent little building, he'd seen a worn-down, one-story box of a house entitled 'The St. Jude's Orphanage'. Whoever St. Jude was, Henry had reasoned at the time, he sure didn't waste a minute on that place by hanging around. No, the saint had left a long time ago, make no mistake. And once he had first walked through its doors, he couldn't help wishing he'd come up with the same idea. Here, there were dark hallways of green paint and ebony panels, giving him the feeling that he'd entered a maze with plenty of entrances, but no exits.

The air was stale with the odor of the receptionist's cigarette habit, for any regulatory measures had not yet popped up on Crucifixus' shores. The rest of the house behind the admittance door was under the command of Deadeye Dan, an ex-Army man turned dorm master who ran both the boys' and the girls' rooms like his personal barracks. Any mess left in the sleeping quarters earned the perpetrator service in the kitchen; and once Henry tossed a handful of used Kleenexes on the floor and didn't bother to pick them up, he became the latest to get shipped off there for two hours of dish duty.

Despite the modern dishwasher set into the woodwork beneath the countertops, the kitchen staff worked hand-in-hand with Dan by making sure none of the kids cut corners and used it. For Henry, this meant fumbling one-handed with each plate, cup, and other utensil as he lowered them into the water; then using his mutilated arm as a brace while he scrubbed and dried with his remaining hand. It was a wonder he didn't drop or break a single piece of china, especially with his shaky grip upon them. It was also a wonder he didn't go ballistic at the small group of girls that passed by the kitchen, took a quick look at him, and then started giggling out loud and whispering about him behind their hands. They were horribly lucky that Vet was here, for he was the only person keeping their resident murderer at bay.

"Someday you'll thank the heavens I _didn't_ slit your throats," he'd muttered to himself at the time, pulling the dishtowel across a plate before dropping it onto the counter beside him. A few boys followed, and after one or two curious glances from the bunch, they continued on their way without a single word to him.

"And _you_ too, stupid gits…"

It was then that he heard the slight thump of a book dropped onto a table, the scrape of a chair's feet against the floor, and finally, the voice of the person that would forever change his life:

"Who trapped you?"

The question had been posed by a dark-haired boy sitting on the other side of the room, one who had been reading and watching him intently up until that point.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Wild animals chew their legs off whenever they get caught in traps and they want to escape," the boy explained, speaking as though he had just looked into Henry's mind.

"One of the nurses here even thinks you look a bit wild. So tell me…who trapped you?"

"Nobody trapped me," Henry answered flatly. "It was a thief who tried to run off with m' stereo. I got him before he had the chance, though he did steal my hand instead."

"Be serious."

"You mean you don't believe me?"

He picked up a knife from the counter and brandished it like a sword.

"If it wasn't for my Swiss Army set, I'd be done for."

"You're a liar."

The boy spoke with a small smile upon his face. Something about that smile unnerved Henry. Was it the way his eyes remained cold while he appeared to look happy? Or was it the fact that the boy's accent—like his own—didn't quite fit in with the rest of the islanders?

"The nurse also said you got found by yourself at home, and that somebody put a lock on your bedroom door. That doesn't sound like a thief to me. You're a liar, Henry Chapman."

"And you're a smart little detective," Henry had snapped, glaring straight into the younger boy's eyes. "What's your name, anyway?"

"I'll be sure to tell you if you survive your operation."

"You know about that?"

"_Ha_! Anyone who works in GeneCo's operating room knows what's going on. It's amazing what a person can overhear when they pretend they're sleeping."

"So then you know all about my…"

"Oh, _yes_. You won't have too much longer to wait; they want to get this procedure over and done with so that they can record the results."

"What do you mean, 'if I survive'?"

The grin on the kid's face could have belonged to either an angel or a madman, and Henry had a devil of a time trying to figure out which category he belonged in.

"What else do you think it means? You're nothing special to that company, at least not yet. They've got quite a few other lawbreakers in from different parts of the globe, you see. That way, if anything terrible should go wrong with these transplant experiments…the victims will be the type of person that _no_ one will miss. To them, you're all just space monkeys, a dime a dozen…however, if you survive the procedure and make a full recovery, who knows where that establishment will next lead you?"

Two more weeks would have to pass before the boy's question was answered, for after Henry's record was cleared for the surgery, only then was he permitted to enter the medical wing of the building. Through the windows of the waiting room, he could see both a gray pearl of a sky and a crow perched upon one post of the security gate.

_Talk about your ill omens…_

Crows signified both death and sorrow, and the sight of one could have easily guaranteed him more of both in his immediate future. It might even turn out exactly as the boy had explained, such as a mishap during the surgery, a failure to return to consciousness, too great a loss of blood, and so on.

Then again…what more would he have to do to guarantee his own safety? He'd provided a sample of his own blood so that they could match him with the right kind when he needed it. He'd gone through the routine exams, discussed his health history, and had nothing to report about drug allergies. He'd kept off of any food or water for the past eight hours, and he'd given his informed consent once he learned all the steps necessary for attaching a new hand onto his stump of an arm.

And once the receptionist had called his name, there truly was no turning back.

First came one last trip to the restroom, for there was no telling when he'd be able to go again. He exchanged his normal clothes for one of their caps and gowns, and the dull point at the end of his wrist got a quick wash for hygiene's sake. He received a pill to help him relax, a needle into his arm to hold the IV line, and a short trip into the operating room so that he could reserve his seat on the table. Finally, a large bag of something thick, blue, and glowing got hooked up to that needle, and before Henry could ask the name of that mysterious brand of anesthetic, the entire room had gone black. His eyes had snapped shut not long afterward, keeping him from seeing anything further.

When at last he opened them again, he awoke to a night sky outside his window and a dimly-lit recovery room on the inside. A foggy veil impeded his vision at first, showing him the world as a series of shapeless blurs and fuzzy orbs of light. His throat ached for water, and his muscles refused to budge when he attempted to roll over. The glow of that strange anesthetic cast a bright blue shine over the whole of the room, giving Henry the feeling of lying in the middle of a haunted house. Any minute now, that crow would find its way inside and fly into his face, clawing his face to ribbons and pecking out his eyes.

"Rise and shine, little plague rat."

A crow had indeed arrived; but not the kind he expected. The man in black had returned, and this time, he carried an office pen and a clipboard under one arm.

"Y'know, we really should stop meetin' like this," Henry had rasped. "What will those poor nurses think?"

"Always the joker, eh, Chapman?"

The stranger took up his pen and braced it against the edge of the clipboard, no doubt preparing to write down something important where the operation's results were concerned.

"Unfortunately, I'm here on business…as I'm sure you may have already guessed. Do you think yourself able to answer a few questions?"

"Depends. Do you think you could handle me for a bit?"

"I'll do my best."

"Allrighty…where do we begin?"

"How about, 'What do you see when you look to your left'?"

"Hmmm…some pulse rate machine, an IV line, and…and a cast…"

His vision had cleared a little after seeing the man in black, which meant that he could also see the changes made to his left arm. That useless stump was nowhere to be found, for in its place waited five stiff fingers, some spongy white material Henry had no name for, and a lot of brown bandages tying it all together.

"…Bloody hell," he had gasped, staring hard at his new hand from the fingertips to the crook of his arm.

"Look at me, I'm cured. My left arm's complete again!"

"Complete on the outside now, and then on the inside in good time," the human crow agreed. "How do you feel now?"

"A bit thirsty. You got any water?"

"I'll ask a nurse to bring some in. What about pain?"

"Pardon?"

"Are you experiencing any pain?"

"Not since they stuck that needle in me."

"M-hmm…"

The man's pen scratched busily away with every note he recorded.

"…So you feel no discomfort whatsoever?"

"Besides wantin' to sleep for a week? No, sir, nothing. Nothing at all."

"Indeed…any shortness of breath? Nausea?"

"None of that either, sir."

"Good, good…and where are you now?"

The fog in the room lifted a bit further, and Henry could make out the steady flash of his pulse monitor.

"I'm in hospital on Crucifixus Island, sir. Where are you?"

"Probably the same exact place, if my memory serves me tonight."

A few more scratches, and then the man's pen disappeared into his right sleeve.

"I believe I've asked enough questions for tonight, Mr. Chapman. Perhaps now would be a good time for me to take my leave and allow you some rest, hm?"

"Hang on…"

Henry had struggled to sit up on his own, and when that didn't work, he used his working hand to pull himself into the right position.

"…Does this mean I can have that money, that house, and everything else you promised?"

"Make a full recovery for me, and _then_ you'll find yourself generously rewarded."

An orderly arrived to change the bag of anesthetic, and the force of the liquid dragged Henry into darkness once more.

***

"Well, well…"

One week passed slowly into another, and soon Henry had been released from observation and placed on a strict schedule of immunosuppressives. The recovery room he rested in had been built on the third floor of the hospital, where he received a space behind a curtain, a view of the parking lot, and at least five other test patients to talk to. The older men around him didn't have much to say, though, because the painkillers and other drugs they got put on kept them asleep much longer than they were awake.

It was the visitors to that room that peaked Henry's interest. When the good news had reached the boys to the West, the dark-haired kid from the kitchen decided to make another appearance.

"…That was quite a long procedure, wasn't it?"

"Longer than I expected," Henry had acknowledged. "But hey, at least I'm whole again. See my new hand?"

He lifted his arm for the boy to get a better look, and saw him nod his approval.

"Indeed. How long before you're able to use it?"

"Two years, maybe more…but I know how to wait. I'll do whatever it takes to get these fingers working again."

"Then you won't object to helping me get to a better place, right?"

"Say _what_?"

He'd had a dumb look on his face at the time, yet the younger boy didn't seem to mind.

"The head of GeneCo's name is Arthur Ayers, and as of today, some say he's got five years left to live. Add that to the fact that he has no heirs to succeed him, and I guess things could get pretty interesting fairly soon."

"All right, so…what's in that for you?"

"Simple. You help me get on his good side, I drop a note about my life in St. Jude's, and before too much longer, I earn myself a place off of these streets."

"What's in it for _me_?"

"Crime without punishment?"

"Oh, really…?"

It was the last thing Henry ever expected to hear from a thirteen-year-old boy, yet just the same, it didn't fail to set off his imagination.

"You mean, I get you in good with the boss, you let me get a little killin' and maimin' done? How d'you plan to pull that off?"

"You like to see people bleed," the kid replied seriously. "I like to trade services for money. It's how I survived in this orphanage long before you showed up."

"All right, so…so you pull a few strings, and…" He mimed drawing a blade over someone else's throat.

"When we're both considered legal, surely."

"What's your name, kid?"

"Rottissimo Largo."

The kid wasn't just Italian, he was also about half of Henry's height and a little on the quiet side…yet on that day, he could almost swear to seeing the kid's shadow reach to the other side of the room without any tricks of the light.

"Right, then, Rottissimo…now that y' put it that way, I'd say you have yourself a deal."

"Excellent." The kid had shook his uninjured hand without a second thought. "By the way, you can call me Rotti."

***

Fifty years would be more than enough time to teach him that he'd made the right decision when he signed his name to that sheet of paper. By surviving the operation, he received five hundred American dollars, a bank account all to himself, and a free ticket into both a decent public school and a program to earn him citizenship. By completing both of these forms of education, he earned the term "legally able to work in the U.S.". And by making the acquaintance of Rotti Largo, he received a powerful new ally when the old owner of GeneCo, Arthur Ayers, named that boy the sole heir to the company and its fortunes.

Soon, there would be a branch of GeneCo in just about every capital of the Western world and a handful within the Eastern, extending the reach of this new genetic empire to all four corners of the world. Thousands of men, women, transgenders, and children would line up at the company's doors to improve their outer appearances, their inner imperfections, and for the truly desperate, a combination of the two. And when his best friend took up the pen that would conduct the vast orchestra of the business; he, Henry Chapman, would be the one to pull the curtain strings upon anyone and everyone who failed to pay for their prized new parts. It was the work he had been born to do ever since Dad had first allowed him to hold that special boxcutter; and from his first day at age twenty-one to his early retirement at age forty-eight, he would treasure every horrified shriek of his victims; every cut of his blade into their flesh; every trail of blood its single tooth left in its path; and every repossessed organ he brought back for Rotti to redistribute to much more sensible customers.

He would also treasure the generation of new Repo men and women he would educate for the next seventeen years, which in turn would not just continue the tradition he started, but also fill the void in his life that the second Plague had left behind. Twenty-six years ago, the combined problems created by organ failure and new medical treatments necessary to spare his life rendered him sterile, for his second doses of Zydrate caused an unexpected allergic reaction, ultimately destroying his reproductive system instead of his heart, lungs, and liver. If not for the scores of young adults that would hang upon his every story later in life, he would probably have missed such an opportunity just as badly as any other man going through a similar situation.

On the other hand…he had definitely felt the exact same emotions after seeing Rotti's three failed attempts in this field of immortality. Two divorces, one disaster, and one jilting had gained him nothing but a beast that killed only for dominance, a snake that abused innocent young ladies for pleasure, and a sloth that wished only to poison herself in the guise of her father's glorious title. As for the product of the jilting, well…that worthless doctor would have been better off alone than to lose his wife one night and his daughter in another, however far apart the events might be. So, also, would Rotti have been better off alone. Would he not have had that Shilo at his disposal with or without the others? Could he not have chosen her after seventeen years just as easily as Mr. Ayers had chosen him? Or, truer still, would it have been a safer decision to name her father as the successor long before he ever heard her mother's name…?

Henry could have asked such questions of himself forever if he desired, yet due to recent events, he could not wait forever to set things right. The sloth he once predicted would overdose herself to death had become pregnant a few months ago. She could no longer indulge in her favorite poison if she wished the brat to live, and because she already showed signs of seeing her motherhood through to the end, now was the time to act.

With her elder brother, Luigi Largo, firmly under his command; he could easily send that loose cannon after anyone that guarded her and, under the guise of suspicion, watch the violent little idiot destroy them one by one. With his full temper unleashed, he could then arrange false data stating that the second-born serpent, Paviche, had evaded payment for his long list of facial reattachment surgeries, and would thus have to be properly dealt with by Luigi himself.

And with the sloth and the beast left behind, Henry was certain, a stabbing scheme could easily be created. The right sort of blade would kill both Amber and her brat together, and then his place within the ranks of Repo Men would result in Luigi taking all of the blame.

In this way, the four greatest threats to GeneCo's survival would be eliminated, and thanks to his own place in society, no one would ever suspect the hand that directed the blade belonged to him. He would be the one that saved the business, the man to serve in the interim, and the greatest company man that Rotti's world would ever see.

Oh, he would lie low for the moment, of course, any other normal citizen would do the same. He would celebrate Christmas and New Year's holidays with the rest of the island, and not do a single thing to attract any suspicion…yet once that large hand struck midnight, so also would he move forward to ring in GeneCo's next age of medical cures.

It was the least he could do to protect all that his friend had worked for, and all that would continue long after he himself was dead and gone.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen: Hard Nights and Crazy Days

"Miss Sweet! Miss Sweet, are you awake?"

The GENtern's summons started up at eight o'clock in the morning, a good three hours before a reporter from Vanity and Vein had been scheduled to interview her for a special report. Unfortunately for Amber, hers had been a rough night of throwing up, stomachaches, and half as much sleep as she normally enjoyed.

It was the storm before the calm of her second trimester, and until the first of January rolled around, she would have to tough out that storm until her Grim Junior or her Amber Junior had grown a little bit more.

"Miss Sweet, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

Okay? _Ugh_. Only a GENtern who would never have to worry about missing a period, eating for two, packing on extra weight, or suffering nausea throughout her first trimester could ask a question like that. Every time Pavi had popped a contraceptive pill, he'd lasted through each and every little game he played with them and _never_ had to take care of any reminders later. Thanks to his strangely careful planning, neither would they.

"Mwhmmmm…"

_Lucky sluts._

It was amazing how she managed to pull herself up off of the pillows and into a sitting position, especially when her stomach had not yet ended its routine of twists and backflips. Her mouth felt a little dry from a lack of water, and her eyes remained foggy in spite of the way she rubbed at them to clear her vision.

How long had it been now since she'd seen that test come back positive? Twelve weeks? Thirteen weeks? It had been a three-month cycle of endless work during the day and empty, ignorant company at home when nighttime rolled around. The only time she saw either of her brothers these days was at the dinner table, and they sure as hell did _not_ want to talk about anything besides themselves. If it wasn't Luigi's prospect to join the Repo Men, it was either a rip in Pavi's sleeve or a stain on Pavi's jacket or anything from a long list of unimportant things that he'd somehow turned into a terrible problem.

_Go cry me a river and build me a fucking bridge…_

It was also amazing that she didn't have to look into a mirror to know how messy her small head of hair felt, let alone looked. She'd styled and trimmed it so many times in order to accommodate her gigantic wig collection. After that sort of rough treatment, it had come back discolored, uneven, and with a high amount of split ends. Not even the best hairstylist would be able to save what was left of her hair now, because there was just too little there to work with. She could easily choose the wig of black hair to remedy that series of mistakes, though. As a donation from a bleeding-heart artist who thought it would be sent to a cancer patient, it was the closest thing she had to getting her old head of hair back without damaging it any further.

"…I mean, yeah, I'm fine."

Three little months, and already her voice had grown a little weaker than usual. She could only imagine how bad it would get by the time the second trimester mark showed up.

"I'll be down in half an hour…"

_Or twice that amount of time, if I throw up again…_

"…Be sure that Luigi saves me some coffee, all right? I have a feeling I'm gonna need it."

"Right away!"

The GENtern's high heels clicked their way into the background, and after she'd opened the window and taken a breath or two of fresh air, Amber felt slightly more conscious than before. She held onto a bedpost to steady herself just in case the nausea decided to strike again, or any sudden movements would end up making her feel dizzy.

As of this trimester, she still felt well enough to not stumble or trip over her own feet. Her figure had only rounded out a little bit, which made for a steadier walking pattern.

As of the next trimester, she knew that would be when all the interesting changes happened.

Her pregnancy books had described everything in short paragraphs with underlined titles just above each topic—Braxton-Hicks contractions, dizziness, an expanding abdomen, gum and nasal problems, infections, leg cramps, shortness of breath, skin changes, stretch marks. The flood of issues she might soon experience still made her head spin, even at this early hour. What would she do if she became dizzy, passed out, and fell down a flight of stairs by accident? What if her skin had become as weak as her hair after all those operations? Would any amount of stretch marks, no matter how short or long, cause her belly to tear open and hurt the baby? Would she start feeling some kind of early contractions as natural practice for later, only to have them grow painful and cause a frightening miscarriage?

With six months to go, the possibilities were endless as to what could go horribly wrong. Her hands shook slightly as she pulled open the doors to her massive closet, and she fought to slow her breathing so that she could better decide what to wear to her interview.

For the first time since the death of her father, all the pairs of human eyes that existed on this island would be upon her; analyzing her every word, vocal tone, and expression she possessed. She would have to look and act her absolute best, because one little slip might not just hurt her job approval ratings, but the overall opinion of GeneCo itself. And if any of these incoming changes affected her on camera, what would that say about her as a person? Would they wonder if the duties of a job and a child were too much responsibility for her to handle? Would they believe she had become too numb to physical pain because of the Zydrate, and that the slightest discomfort had thrown her off balance? Would they start calling for her resignation, and ask just about anyone within the company to push her out and take her place?

Taking over a position in GeneCo was one thing, but holding onto that position and not losing it by mistake was another. It could mean the difference between caring for this kid the right way—with a focus on their needs, a stable household, and a bank account with no limits—versus the wrong way, which meant no home, no money, and worst of all, no resolve to do right by them.

Amber Sweet walked a fine line between those two outcomes, and these days, she would have to go on following that line until D-Day, the time in which she would finally meet the little one after a lot of pain and pushing. Until then, her role for the morning was simple by comparison: dress well and look healthy.

Thank goodness she'd found something respectable to wear the night before, and didn't have to rifle through her closet at the last minute. The modest little black dress with the lacy skirt and the beaded bodice would definitely suit her fine, and when matched with a head of dark curls and a pair of black lace gloves, her image on-screen would have to be good enough for all the viewers as well.

And as for her sense of well-being, no doubt a good breakfast would be waiting for her in the dining room, courtesy of a few sympathetic members of the household staff who had put their fears of her brothers aside months ago. If her family would not look after her; they had reasoned, then they would gladly rise to the challenge instead.

"Six more months to go," she told herself, patting her stomach and attempting to think positive thoughts. "Six more months, and then everything will be fine…"

* * *

"…_Chromaggia… incrociò in volo la freccia di un arciere, lungo le coste di lava_…"

Shilo must have been busy cooking since long before he opened his eyes. He'd enjoyed a pretty good day of sleep, only to wake up to the smells of rice and cooking fish wafting in from the other room. Since when had she been interested in what went on in the kitchen…?

"…_Per anni, pensando di essere, inseguita, scappò dalla freccia_…"

That song again.

She must have memorized that song by now. It played enough on the news reports of the singer's death for the entire island to know every word. If what some folks in the rumor mill believed about the late Blind Mag turned out to be true, she did it all to honor her 'godmother'. Once again, that tragic bird was making her rounds, flying in hopes of freeing her wing from the arrow only to realize that she'd only helped kill a load of other birds in the process. Why couldn't she sing something happier, like that number about the macho bullfighter from Carmen…?

"_Ugh-h-h_."

It wasn't all that long before a migraine stabbed its way across his forehead. How many bottles of wine had he swallowed? One? Two? Did he even _want_ to know?

"I hear somebody mumbling out there," Shilo called happily. "Is someone awake?"

"Someone might say that…"

He didn't think he had enough strength left to get up, yet interestingly enough, he managed to pull himself into a sitting position as Shilo peeked through the doorway; a dripping ladle in one hand and a canister of seasoning in the other.

"I hope you're hungry, there's crawfish etoufée on the stove," she explained. "I heard that the spices should be good to clear out your sinuses."

"Right. Right, yeah, my sinuses…"

He yawned loudly and rubbed the fog from his eyes, slowly taking in the usual shadows; street lights; and other images associated with the night. The stars twinkled faintly in the distance, their shine uninterrupted by the black emptiness of a new moon.

"How long was I out for?"

"Probably twelve hours. I'm not all that surprised, though, this island is pretty big. It would take all night to get from one end to the other, wouldn't it?"

"I guess…"

Night meant the cover of darkness, and darkness meant that he would have to head out to the graveyard before too much time passed. With the prospect of the newly-dead repossession victims to think about, it would be stupid of him to leave all that Zydrate out for just _anyone_ to claim as their own.

The only problem left for him was this—he felt way too down and out to go get it on his own. It had been stupid enough for him to try hunting for the glow on a starving stomach and a lack of sleep. How useless would he be to his own survival if he tried the same thing with a cold and a hangover?

"…Hey, Wallace?"

"Hmm?"

"You got your first vial somewhere around here?"

"I traded it to some street vendor for your dinner."

_Stupid, crazy little charity worker…_

"Is that so?"

"M-hm. I didn't need that stuff after all, so I used it to help you get better. It's only fair, what with all those times you looked after me."

_That must make me the Saint of the Year…_

"Are the guys looking after you, too?"

"As well as they can when they're not out working. Both Steve and Norm drop by once every night just to make sure I'm okay."

"And when are they coming again?"

"About a minute from now…?"

"_Shit_!"

"What?"

"I haven't seen 'em in three months, kid. What if they think I died a long time ago?"

"Oh, I already told them you were here," Shilo said quickly, pointing to the communicator around her wrist. "Don't worry; I know they'll want to see you. Now…how about some food?"

"Okay…"

Within a minute or two, Shilo had filled a bowl full of steaming brown rice and ladled some of the crawfish mixture over the top of it, thus presenting him with what might have been his first home-cooked meal in a while. He'd finished off about two spoonfuls when three hard, booming knocks sounded upon the door; followed by three slightly quieter knocks.

"That's the signal, three loud and three soft," Shilo said to Graverobber, getting up to answer the door. "Ah, there you are! Come in, come in, you're just in time for dinner!"

"Yeah, no kidding, we just brought it in," Steve joked, walking into the room with a secondhand Christmas tree slung over one shoulder. "How's Frankenstein doing?"

"Frankenstein?"

"You know, the reanimated corpse? The guy who died and got shocked back to life?"

"He's sitting right there and getting over a cold."

"A cold? Aw, that's too bad, Wallace. I guess me and my associate here will just have to enjoy the Roadkill Café's wares all by ourselves."

Steve went over to one corner of the room and started setting the tree up, being careful to arrange it in such a way so that the walls would keep it standing upright. Norm had brought four bags of something steaming hot inside in the meantime, each of which had the logo of a possum with three squiggly tire tracks etched permanently into its back.

"Oh, so—so that's like a diner?" Shilo asked, moving aside to give them room. "How far away is it from here?"

"A few blocks, give or take an alley. It's one of the few places on this island that hasn't gone Italian."

"Meaning…?"

"It offers something besides lasagna and cannoli, let's put it that way."

"Oh…right."

Shilo returned to the pot of crawfish and gave it a few more stirs with her wooden spoon.

"I already got this cooking for Grim, but you can have what's in the bags, it's only fair…you went through the trouble to get it, why not enjoy it by yourselves?"

"You plan to eat at all tonight, Shi?" Graverobber asked, watching her curiously.

"I'll survive just fine on this, thanks," she answered, filling another bowl with rice and crawfish. "Omega-3's are better on a person's system anyway."

"Oh, really? I don't think the guys can finish all of this off…"

Grim reached over and nudged the bowl and spoon aside just as Shilo was sitting down; then took up one of the bags and passed it to her.

"Here you go. Time to live a little, hm?"

"I shouldn't touch that, it's loaded with fat and sodium and calories," she insisted, attempting to push it away. "I don't want a heart attack before my next birthday, thank you very much!"

"One time won't kill you," he promised, dangling the bag in front of her face. "Anything bad happens; I'll pay the hospital bill myself. How's that?"

"Well…if you say it's okay, I'll have just a little."

"No problem. Knock yourself out."

"Hey, Grim…?"

"Yeah?"

"There's something important I better talk to you about."

Norm pushed away his share of the food without taking a bite, a look of resolve coming over him.

"You remember the west side of the island, right?"

"Hard to forget the place where I grew up," Graverobber answered. "What about it?"

"Well, there's a lot of unclaimed Zydrate over there now that Char—now that no one else is around to hunt for it."

"Okay…"

"And it's open to pretty much anyone who's been down on their luck lately."

"You offering me an extra stash, Preston?'

Norm smiled faintly at this, one hand fingering his bag while the other rested motionless upon the table.

"Let's just say life's a little harder than it used to be. Us crows have to look out for each other, know what I'm saying?"

"Right. I collect from that quarter, but we each get half of the profits," Grim decided.

"It's only fair; you're the one who offered it to me."

"Deal."

"Here we go, gang, news time!"

Steve's efforts had guaranteed that the Christmas tree assembly was successful; and to celebrate his little victory, a few seconds of channel-surfing brought him straight to the local news network where the latest edition of Vanity and Vein was in full swing. The studio carried a photo of Amber Sweet behind its seated announcer, and with it, the words 'Exclusive Interview' glowed in bright yellow across the marquee.

"Well, maybe not real news, but ah…hey, should I find something else?"

"Nah, just leave it," Graverobber said, turning his attention to the screen. "Maybe this guy's got something good to say for once."

"…And now, let's go over to Ralph Roberts with the latest update on the Largo baby. Ralph?"

"Right away, Janice. Today I had the honor of interviewing the mistress of GeneCo herself, Amber Sweet, and boy, did she have a _lot_ to say on current events:"

The screen switched to the image of Amber and Ralph sitting together in a room of the Largo mansion, a small black microphone hovering between them.

"How have these last few months been for you?"

"It started out a little rough at first, but I think I've managed just fine so far. Thank goodness my stomach has settled, at least!"

"Of course, of course…tell me some more about this Mr. Graves. When did the two of you first get acquainted?"

"Roger Graves was there to help me when it seemed nobody else would," the image of Amber explained, one hand resting against her swollen stomach. "I felt so alone after losing Daddy that I could have wandered off anywhere—some low-class bar or some dark alley, for example. But lucky for me, I first met Roger right after the Genetic Opera. He saw how upset I was and convinced me to spend a little time at his house until I felt well enough to come back home."

She added a nervous giggle to her performance; something that Graverobber didn't find the least bit funny.

"He was so sweet and so caring, too…sweet enough that I just couldn't resist him. We connected so closely with each other that soon…well, that one thing led to another, and here's our little souvenir right here!"

"And how does Mr. Graves feel about becoming a father?"

"He doesn't feel anything, unfortunately," Amber said, faking a sniffle. "You see, as loving as he was, he was also very absent-minded…and he forgot to pay for his new set of kidneys. I would have loved to break the news to him, but…"

"A sad beginning to what would have been a happy story," the newscaster sighed, dramatically putting a hand over his heart.

"Is it rough having to handle this by yourself? How are you getting along without him?"

"Sometimes I have trouble thinking clearly, because I can't help but ask myself, 'Would he really approve of me keeping the baby?', 'Am I doing the right thing', 'Should I have chosen adoption instead as a better choice', and so on. It's all one day at a time, really…I just have to keep a clear idea of what I should and shouldn't do, like getting my exercise in and not going out to get drunk or anything like that."

"What would you say to Roger today if he were alive?"

Her eyes gazed almost directly into the camera as she gave her next answer.

"I'd…I'd want him to know that now there are two people who love him very much, and—and that we'll both miss him every day until we can be together again."

"So sad, and yet so true," the announcer observed, wiping an imaginary tear from their eye as the image of the interview faded to black. "You heard it here first, folks…Janice, back to you."

"Huh. How about that?"

Grim forgot his bowl of etoufée and looked at the screen instead; a wistful look taking the place of his usual smirk.

"Three months dealing with our kid by herself, and they make it worse by turning her into a hero. Is she ever going to get a break?"

"A break?"

Shilo slammed her cup against the table in disgust, rising to confront him.

"Does _she_ ever give _you_ a break, Graverobber? Does she ever think about what might be best for _you_ rather than just for herself? Or are you happier getting humped and dumped all the time?"

"Hey, kid, we did what we had to do. How else do you think we were gonna break this to the public? 'Hey, everybody, guess what? I've been having a freaky relationship with my dealer for the past ten years…and now we're expecting! Isn't that nice?'"

"At least you could be honest about it for once!"

"Wise up, Wallace, she's been honest with me for ten years."

"Is that why she's always pushing you away and trying to hide the truth?"

"This is Sanitarium Square, Wallace," Graverobber laughed darkly. "Hiding is what keeps us alive every night."

"Then maybe she should _stop_ hiding and _start_ owning up to her own mistakes!"

Shilo pushed away what was left of her dinner; then scowled at the table on purpose to avoid his eye.

"Does she even know that you almost got pneumonia, or is she too busy to care?"

"It's not like that, kid—"

"—Then what is it like?"

"I'll tell you if you listen for once," Graverobber said with a scowl. "You do know what listening is, don't you?"

Something about his expression made Shilo feel nervous, ashamed, and eager all at once to hear what was on his mind. Something about the look in his eyes also made it impossible for her to look away, and for the first time in several months, she felt the heat rush into her cheeks as she nodded her reply. What was it about this stranger that suddenly made her so worked up…?

"Good. That'll save us an argument, at least."

He finished the last of the crawfish and set the bowl aside, straightening out the tablecloth as he went along.

"It all started about eleven years ago, almost to the day give or take a few weeks. There was a big charity ball over at the Largo house that fell on New Year's Eve, and amongst the usual clientele that had more money than brains, three ragtag boys just happened to make it onto the guest list…"


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** I own Henry Chapman, the Mortician, Graverobber's buddies, and the female GeneCop that's soon to be introduced in this story. That's about it, cause everything else belongs to the guys that made Repo…because they are COOL like that, and you'd better show 'em some freakin' respect!

**Author's Note:** I have SpookyDan on my Twitter account. I am the coolie. I wonder if anybody else reading this story of mine has Twitter? If so…mmmaybe you could add GRICanHaz to your follow list, and thus see my update notices a bit better?

Anyways, back to work I go…

Chapter Sixteen: Eleven Years Ago

If there's one thing that GeneCo does well on a regular basis, it's looking after the orphans. They make the top of the list of people waiting for donated organs, so that nine times out of ten, when the donations roll in, they're the first to get taken care of. That was how they got things done in '30, and that's probably how they'll do things for quite some time yet.

Anyways, along with me and these two other glow worms, there were most likely thousands of other kids left without parents when the pandemic hit, if not millions. There was also a good handful of 'em living on this island alone, so all the higher-ups working in GeneCo's offices knew how to keep tabs on them once most of them got placed with new families and the chaos of the outbreak had finally died down.

When the yearly parties started, anybody who hadn't died from complications, rejection, or repossession got their names put onto a master list, thus saving the company a boatload of cash and credits on airfare and other travel costs. From there, all somebody had to do was pick three names at random from a small black box, and by some crazy twist of good luck or bad mojo, our names made it into those three little slots. We were the ones invited to the big New Year's celebration that year, if nothing else than to prove how well old Largo's system worked with those a load less fortunate than himself. They all wanted to pat themselves on the back and we'd get a free meal in return, so it wasn't long before we decided on sending back a few letters promising that we'd show up.

And so, before too much more time came and went, there we were at the big party itself, blending well into the crowd with our thick winter coats, dress suits, and normal-looking fedoras. The ballroom we walked into must have been about a hundred times the size of this apartment, if not bigger than that. Three huge, shiny chandeliers hung down from an even bigger ceiling, lighting the place up almost as though it were a theater about to put on some important play. On one side, you had the menu for the evening: toasted garlic bread for the appetizer; lasagna for the first course; stuffed chicken for the second; sautéed mushrooms on the side; and finally, tiramisu and espresso to wash it all down. They must have guessed we all had large appetites, because we didn't have to worry about seconds once we had our share of everything on that table.

On the other side, once enough people also had their share and digested without a hitch, anybody lucky enough to find a partner took the time for a little talking or dancing to the tunes dished out by the jazz ensemble. Our invitations didn't say anything about bringing dates, so we decided it might be safer to sit it out then to try our luck and rob someone else of their own. In the meantime, we enjoyed the music as best we could, keeping up the roles of grateful ex-orphans and staying on our best behavior.

After a load of questions from about ten or eleven people and twice that many curious looks, however, the three of us decided it was high time to ditch the fancy sparklies and go seek some better entertainment elsewhere. That was the word we used for people who were so obsessed about how they looked that they had to dazzle everyone around them wherever they went. Sixty minutes was all we could handle around those folks, and so not long afterwards, we snuck out of the ballroom and found our way onto the back lawn where no other souls were out and about.

Out there, we had everything we needed for a big winter blitz—cold weather, street lamps, and a heap of snow all to ourselves. First guy to get hit with ten snowballs had to sit it out while the two remaining guys had to get the other with five. I had a pretty good throwing arm back then, so naturally I hoped to be the winner. About halfway into our little game, unexpectedly, I saw the flare of a cigarette lighter out of the corner of my eye. Somebody had the same idea as the three of us, only they took off from the big celebration to go suck on a cancer stick. How about that?

And not just anybody, mind you, but little Miss Amber Sweet herself. Back then, before that first scalpel found its way to her face, she was Carmela Largo, tall, skinny, and dressing more like a tomboy than the old man's only daughter. Guess she got a lot of hand-me-downs from the brothers once they'd had their way with 'em. Anyways, once I saw those gray eyes look my way and those shoulders freeze up, it was then that I decided to have a little fun as payment for her interrupting our game.

"Well, well, gentlemen, look who I found," I announced, unable to resist the temptation of mocking a lungsnatcher.

"Little Carmina here's giving herself emphysema. Looks like she's a big girl now. Does Daddy know you're a chain smoker, Carmina?"

"It's _Carmela_, and you can shut the fuck up about me smoking," she snapped at me. "It's none of your damn business!"

"Ooh-hoo, somebody's in a bad mood tonight," I'd jeered, letting the guys in on my game for some extra kicks and giggles.

"Do you talk that way to everyone, or just me? Do you cuss at Daddy whenever you're mad?"

"That's not your business either, now excuse m—_hey_!"

Before she'd got the chance to run off, I'd nicked the cig out of her hand and held it high in the air, daring her to come after it. The mad look on her face was priceless, and it just got me even more inspired to keep messing with her mind.

"Maybe I should go tell him myself," I jeered, dodging to avoid her. "You think he'd like that, _Carmina_? You think that'd be good for the business?"

"Forget that," Steve cackled, "Forget that. How about we make her share some of those smokes with the rest of us? Is there enough to go around?"

"Damnit all, you give that back, you sick fuck," she howled at me, practically trying to scratch the cigarette out of my hand. "Or maybe I can call the GeneCops and let _them_ have a chance at you?!"

"The which?"

"You heard me, the GeneCops!"

I started out as the bully, only to wind up at the receiving end once she played the police card. Her cancer stick might have still been out of her reach, but her bruised ego sure as hell wasn't. As far as I knew, she had me over the coals this time around, and for good reason—cops were the last thing I ever expected to see at a party like this. And if she had her way in the end, they might have also been the last thing I saw before I got tossed into the can for disturbing the peace.

"I can do it, ya know. I could bring them all out here if I screamed loud enough. Do you want to find out for yourself how loud I can scream, Mr.…whoever-the-fuck-you-are?"

"Grim, I think Carmela here's got a point," Norm had hissed behind his hand, glancing wildly about to see if maybe she was playing a joke on us instead. "We got no idea what this girl can do…"

"You've got 'til the count of three, buster! One! Two—"

"—All right, all right, hang on a minute," I interrupted, making her fall silent. "There's an easier way out of this, Carmina—"

"—Carmela!"

"Okay, whatever, _Carmela_. There's an easier way out of this, like I said…how about instead of me telling your old man what you've been up to, I agree to keep silent if you give me something back?"

"Give you what, exactly?" she asked me, adding a skeptical glare to the mix.

"Oh, I don't know…maybe just a little kiss to remind me not to let anything slip?"

_You _really_ asked her that?!_

It got her to keep quiet, didn't it?

"A kiss? Yeah, _right_! Don't you have any better ideas besides that?"

"Why not?" I answered, completely serious. "Half the guys on this island must think about you during the day, Largo. Sooner or later, they might start lining up to ask you out."

"Really…?"

"_Really_. Some of 'em might even think about you during the night…but they won't say it out loud, of course."

"What exactly are you getting at?"

"Let's just say I'd like to get my shot of heaven before I have to deal with any competition," I said, shrugging a bit. "Five seconds is a lot easier when there isn't a captive audience starin' back at me…if ya know what I mean."

"It's gonna take me only five seconds? Are you sure?"

"I counted at least five times when I saw this stuff in the movies. What do you say, Largo? Do we have a deal?"

"Just…_one_ kiss?"

"Just one, then we'll forget we ever saw ya out here. How about it?"

"This is so wrong…"

"Knock it off, Norm, I'm watching!"

"_Both_ of you shut it and let her speak!"

"All right," she said finally, flicking her eyebrows in warning. "But no grabbing, touching, pinching, tonguing me, or any other funny shit. You got that?"

"Would I do such a thing?" I said innocently, pretending to put a hand over my heart in total dismay.

"Guess there's only one way to find out…"

She could have done a lot of things that night instead of hanging around and going through with my plan. The list of possibilities were just about endless—laugh in my face and walk away, say nothing and call the GeneCops in as promised, call for the Big Brothers to do what they do best, hell, even scream for Daddy Dearest to deal with me GeneCo style. At the moment, though, guess little Carmela decided to show off her gutsy side and lean in for a fast peck on the cheek. Too bad she didn't expect me to turn my head at the last second and get her square upon the lips instead.

_Ew,_ _seriously?_ _You got her right on the lips?_

How could I help it? Some folks are just more fun to be around when they're really pissed off. Looks like she turned out to be one of 'em. Now…where was I?

_The five second kiss…thing…whatever?_

Right, right, back to the cemetery…anyways, I'd promised her five seconds exactly, so it was a little surprising to me that the both of us held on for about seven seconds before she finally pulled away, her eyes wide and glaring back at me in anger.

"You bastard!" she yelled, shivering and laughing in disbelief all at once. "You tricked me. You actually _tricked_ me!"

"What'd you expect from a stranger, Largo?" I'd smirked, feeling real proud of myself for pushing her buttons and getting her all riled up like that.

"Long or short, I got what I wanted, didn't I? It's not like I just infected you with some incurable disease, ya know. I had my moment, and now that moment's over."

I pretended to turn away and go back to creating snowballs, if only to hear her fuming and stomping around behind me.

"You'll forget about me soon enough anyways, don't worry. Who knows? Maybe Daddy can go buy you a boyfriend or something, if you end up wanting one that badly, that is—"

I didn't get any more time to wonder about that, though. In about seven more seconds' time, little Miss Carmela had walked around to face me, slapped me good, taken back her cigarette, and turned back in the direction of the mansion before I could provoke the gal any further.

Trouble was, that was the same time that Daddy Dearest himself decided to make his own grand entrance.

_You mean…?_

_Yep_. You think old Rottweiler was a pain at the Opera? You should have had a good look at him before he ever got sick!

_How did you manage to get away without him shouting for your heart on a silver platter?_

You might say Carmela had a hand in that.

_Her? After all that _craziness_?_

Like I said before, just listen and pay attention. He'd gotten himself a good look at the two of us before storming outside, and the Brothers followed along behind him like they always did, the younger one itching to hear all the graphic details while the older one wanted to know what the fuck just happened. There was no doubt in my mind that all three of them were off in search of a fight, though. They might have dressed up real sharp and been on their best behavior while the cameras rolled, but behind the scenes, they could have easily gutted the three of us and made it appear like an accident. The fact that Big Brother Uno started fingering his knife at that very second made it all too clear for us visitors.

_So how did Carmela figure into all that?_

Simple—she'd lived with all three of those guys her entire life. She knew what pissed them off and made them howl for blood, but more importantly, she also knew how to throw them off the scent for that blood…like changing the subject and distracting them completely, for example.

"Why are you out here by yourself, Carmela?" Old Rotti demanded the moment he saw her. "Did I not ask you to stay inside and greet the guests?"

"Yes, Daddy," she replied obediently, putting out her cigarette and hiding it in the snow before he got a chance to see it.

"They all got in to the ballroom by now, though…I did what I was supposed to do. I got bored after standing around for a while, I couldn't help it…"

"And cavorting with strange men? I suppose you couldn't help that _either_, young lady?"

You can bet me money that he didn't have his happy face on, because you probably would have one that hands down. Judging from how Amber looked back then, if there was one thing nobody would ever do to the head of GeneCo, it was to disobey a direct request. At the same time, however, that didn't keep her from _not_ backing down to Daddy Dearest, bad temper or not.

"Oh, they're not men," she sniffed, turning her back to us and following the other Largos inside.

"They're not even strange, Daddy. They just tried to weasel me into joining their snowball fight, that's all…"

None of us got to follow along or listen in to find out what happened afterwards. That part stayed a mystery to this crazy trio, even after so many years passed by us since that night. Whatever did happen, though, it must have turned out all right, because we didn't end up seeing any masked men knocking at our doors later on. We had an unexpected ally in that skinny spawn of a Largo, and that was enough for at least one of us to keep in mind a good, long time afterwards. It wouldn't be too much longer, and then I'd find out just how much she kept _me_ in mind.

* * *

"And Carm…er, I mean Amber? What happened to her?"

"Let's say that's another story we can get into later, kid," Graverobber sighed. "It'd probably take me all night to tell it to ya, so…how about we skip it for now?"

"Okay, so…what about you guys, then?" Shilo pressed, her voice anxious. "What happened after that while passed?"

"Same story, Wallace. Like I said, it'll take me all night to explain."

"Oh, right…sorry about that. I'll wait until you get a free night to tell me everything, okay…?"

"When the time comes, I'll be sure to let ya know."

With the bowls of crawfish now lying empty and the used fast food containers disposed of, the time for that day's rest had finally ended. Grim watched wistfully as Norm and Steve tossed on their jackets, threw their respective bags over one shoulder, and checked to make sure their belts were secure for the evening's Zydrate sales. Before he'd shown up at Shilo's door at sunrise, he'd considered bundling up a little warmer and then heading back outside as usual once night had fallen over the island. Now that he'd had some rest and food put back in his system, however, his sore throat and half-clogged sinuses gave him quite a few other ideas.

"You guys make sure no one sneaks into the South end while I'm gone, right?"

"Uh…sure, man, no problem," Norm said slowly, eyeing him as though he'd just walked off some alien mother ship. "I take it you're calling the night off?"

"Just until I feel well enough to go back out again," Graverobber answered. "Don't worry, I still remember how it was after the GeneCops almost starved me. You guys would probably talk me out of it anyway, especially after hearing me cough the way I did."

"Very, very probably."

"I'm not sure the kid would like it if I actually _did_ get pneumonia, either. I better stay put up here so that doesn't happen."

"Right. I'll set up another white skull drawing so that the others know it's off limits. It's the least I can do after what happened during our last meeting."

"Huh, remind me to be rotten more often. I could get used to this special treatment."

"Don't push your luck, glowworm."

"Whatever you say, dumpster diver."

The two grave robbers shook hands briefly before Norm opened the door again, leaving it wide open so that he and Steve could get their equipment through without any problems.

"We'll be back to check up on you guys in a few days."

"Sounds good," said Shilo, giving them both a small wave. "See you then!"

After a few mumbled goodbyes and a shifting of Zydrate guns, the others had vanished behind the closed door, their heavy footsteps echoing into the background. Shilo's attention switched instantly to Grim turning away and heading towards the other room of the small apartment, seemingly lost in thought after relaying his side of the story out loud. Part of her wanted to follow him and ask a few more questions, something, _anything_ to learn what she could about this strange, complex situation unfolding before her eyes. She hated herself for not knowing the right words to say, because if she had known, any problems he had at this moment might be solved quickly with her assistance.

At the same time, there was some unknown factor driving all of this real-life drama, some aspect much more complicated than the impending existence of a firstborn baby. She could vaguely sense it in his slow style of walking and the low sink of his shoulders. It was nowhere near as simple as those countless love stories she'd watched on television when she had once been a prisoner in the confines of her own home. She wished for something easier to understand and feared that missing factor all at once, and that only served to cause so much confusion as to keep her from speaking any further.

Instead, she could only go about tidying up any smaller messes that had been left behind, and pick up where she had left off on her godmother's final song.

"_Chromaggia, Chromaggia, perché non affronti il pericolo…_"


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:** Contrary to popular belief…this was filmed by LIONSGATE first, not Universal…it had MR. STEWART HEAD as the Repo Man, not Jude Law…and it belonged to MR. BOUSMAN AND MR. ZDUNICH. SERIOUSLY, YOU GAIZ…it DID.

**Author's Note:** Copycat and piggyback all you want, Universal. I know who got to this subject before you did. Trust me, and count me one less person who's going to give you money for it. Heck, anybody who reads this story, can you also be one less person as I am? No, wait, the cervical cancer prevention people will have my hide…scratch that…

*ahem*

Seventeen chapters, y'all. Lucky seventeen. Super-duper-Shilo-Wallace-age of seventeen…and the fun's just beginning. Please continue with the reading and the commenting, I really appreciate it.

Chapter Seventeen: Light of Day, Shadow of Night

"Where are you going today, Brother?"

"None of your fucking business, _Brother_."

"The Pavi _must_ know everything."

"The Pavi can go shove it up his ass, 'cause the Luigi ain't talking."

Five minutes into breakfast, and already the little asshole was shooting his mouth off and trying to get in on the action. Even with all the espresso and Genterns to wake up with, he still had to start asking a shitload of questions.

Like _he_ would say anything about his new job to anyone in the mansion anyway!

According to old Chapman, that would remain classified business until GeneCo itself saw fit to discuss it with the public…which, in layman's terms, meant that stupid, fat Amber would have to mention it on camera for it to have any meaning.

At least, that was how it would be with everyone who didn't work within the company's walls. With the fortunate few who did, Luigi reasoned, they'd have to learn to respect him pretty fucking fast. He was no longer the worthless weakling who stood around scowling in the shadows. Instead, as of tonight, he'd be one of those chosen to carry the knife that took out what rightfully belonged to GeneCo…and in good time, what rightfully belonged to him.

"Not one teeny, tiny, itsy-bitsy _little_-a hint for the Pavi?"

In the meantime, he'd enjoy whatever distractions Christmas and New Year's would try to offer him, or at least look like he enjoyed these two holidays. With blood and vengeance on his mind, it would be difficult for him to think about anything else.

"Depends. You want my hint between the eyes or down your throat, Brother?"

One small snort of disgust from the freak, and then he raised both hands in mock surrender. Good. That made one less fucking idiot to annoy him.

"I didn't think so. Now shut the fuck up, or I won't bother asking next time."

"_Bene_…"

He spent the next half-hour in blissful silence until the morning meal was finished and the plates and utensils were cleared away. Afterwards, he had only to find his jacket and then call for the help of 'Marie Antoinette', that chauffeur who almost always hid their face behind a black wool scarf. He never did bother asking if they were a man or a woman, but then again, since they were hired for their driving skills and not any gender-specific qualities, he'd probably never have to. He would only need a short ride to Chapman's house, and from there, they would go together into GeneCo itself.

"I'll be back before noon. Don't wreck the house while I'm gone, or it's my knife up your ass."

"_Si, fratello_."

"And don't fuck around with my private stuff, either."

"_Bene_."

"Is the slut awake yet?"

"It would appear _Sorella_ prefers to sleep in today," Pavi answered, the rest of him slouching while his smile remained frozen in place. "She will-a not go into the office because the winter break has started…or so the story goes."

"Whatever. Make sure she doesn't eat everything in the fridge, all right? There are still other people living here besides her and her fucking brat."

"Whatever you say…_Brother_."

* * *

"Did he ask you any questions about our plan?"

"Nope. The asshole just wanted to know where the fuck I was going."

"And what did you tell him, Master Largo?"

"I told him to mind his own damn business, that's what."

The driver in the curly wig had now turned into the exit leading to GeneCo's main building. By memory alone, Luigi knew that he or she had gone halfway across the island. By observation alone, however, just about every aspect of that old route looked ten times different to him. For instance, the space around that old opera house no longer appeared as some mild form of entertainment, but rather a possible zone for hunting down delinquents if his superiors ever had the same idea. The restaurant down the street was no longer the place to go to if the family chef overcooked the meals, but rather somewhere he could go to unwind if the need arose after he completed his assignments.

And this old limousine wasn't just the means to get to GeneCo's various functions any more. Today, it was his one-way ticket to absolute freedom.

"Very good, very good…the less people that know of this, the better. Our little secret. We wouldn't want anyone to let something slip to your sister, now, would we? Ah, yes…we're almost there."

On the horizon, the complex of the GeneCo buildings rose up from the ground like an island fortress, its red and white sign shining brightly through the hazy morning sky. The image of a blue-haired woman singing into a sparking microphone flickered briefly across the middle of the main tower, while an advertisement for Dolce Drops had its thirty seconds of fame from that familiar projector screen attached to a nearby overhang. Years ago, he'd imagined that place to be his father's castle stronghold, and like all princes of the past, he'd dreamed of how wonderful life would be the day he got the chance to look after the business. These days, he learned the hard way that some wishes had to be grabbed with a person's bare hands, and not just waited for until they came true because the waiting might take forever. His old wish of running the business had become one of them.

"Home sweet home," Henry intoned as the limo pulled up beside the main entrance.

"After you, Master Largo. We have some ways to go yet."

Luigi had used that old elevator to ride up to Pop's office so many times; there was no longer any number to measure them. For so long, he had seen the city grow from beneath, the tiny gears and levers spiriting him away to the figurative watchtower in the sky, resting at the very top of the tall building that glowed with the flare of neon lights. It had been a beacon to the needy and the final epitaph to the greedy, and for him, a second home away from the Largo mansion.

When he passed through those spotless glass doors once more, naturally he expected that Chapman would take the same mode of transportation as he had ever since his own early childhood. A few seconds later, however, the older man had instead gone to a white door labeled 'Maintenance', which opened into a dimly-lit, drafty hallway.

"What the fuck is that, the boiler room?"

"It's the private corridor that the Repo Agents use to get to their designated breakroom," Henry explained. "We tend to do things a little differently than the other employees of GeneCo."

_Now the geezer tells me…_

"All right, so what, we walk all the way?"

"Of course _not_, Master Largo. We'll take the lift to the right level, and then proceed from there."

"Hm."

A good quarter-century or more of ice, water, and heat had taken its toll upon that hallway, rusting wherever wet gloves had touched the rails on either side of the floor and warping the floorboards wherever soaked boots had walked. The 'lift' Chapman had referred to was a small red box of metal and decorative wire screens large enough to carry only four people at a time. Half that amount took the slow ride up the next twelve floors or so, stopping only when they'd reached a black door exactly thirteen doors away from the entrance. Two more open doors, and then Luigi stood at the end of a white corridor with a black tile floor, a series of small blue lights glowing faintly from the other side. and a small sign marked 'Personnel' hanging to his left.

"I remember the night I first walked into this part of GeneCo," Henry mused, continuing to lead the way. "It felt almost like entering a deserted, haunted building. Very surreal, at least in my opinion."

"That so?"

"Oh, yes. Remember, I was the only Repossessor they had at the time. With no one else around, it was more than quiet to hear my own thoughts, and then some. I still wonder how I managed to get through those few years and not lose my mind from the isolation."

"Ha, ha. At least you didn't have any freaks or sluts fucking around with your brain."

"Perhaps, Mr. Largo, perhaps…or maybe a part of my mind was already lost by the time I arrived. Who knows?"

They were nearing the end of the journey now; a pair of red doors in the distance resting between the white walls. The dim glow of blue-black figures shone brighter as they drew closer, and with it, Luigi could make out the shapes of faces, bodies, and weapons protruding from the metallic frames.

"What's this supposed to be, a fucking graveyard?" he snapped, glaring at the first portrait in disgust. The faces and the dates beneath them looked too much like funeral pictures for him to even feel remotely interested in the people posing within them. If he wanted dead people to talk to, he would have visited the family mausoleum instead of this junk heap.

"I thought Waste Management put this sort of shit underground! Did some fucker change his mind?"

"Not at all, Master Largo," Chapman answered smoothly. "What you see here are not memorials, but records of time well spent. The first six Repo Men served GeneCo until their respective retirements and one untimely death, while the others gladly continue to repossess as the company sees fit. Someday soon, you'll see your own face staring back at you from that very wall."

"Oh, really…?"

Despite his foul mood, some odd tingling sensation snuck into his brain and refused to go away. With the right sort of blade at hand, he could—no, he would—find the sort of position he'd always wanted and never let it slip into someone else's hands. He'd have to, or else he'd be stuck in that mutant nursery of a mansion forever, watching that little slut spawn her own brats and have them take precedence over him with no complaints. Even as he stared at those red doors up close, he already knew how willing he was to leave that sort of future behind him forever.

"Oh, yes, _really_. All that's needed now is a successful orientation, and then straight to your first assignment. Stay patient for a little while longer, and I promise you, you'll be duly rewarded. Now…what was that key code sequence again? Ah, yes…Fibonacci!"

A small keypad rested beside the door, its surface protected by a retractable sheet of Plexiglass. The geezer standing next to him had obtained the code numbers straight from someone in the security office exactly three days before his orientation had been scheduled. Now, two ones, one two, one three, and one five opened his way into a sterile white room without windows or wall decorations of any kind; its starkness diffused by black tables surfaced with clear glass, black chairs, and half a dozen black-suited individuals scattered throughout.

"What's this, what's this?"

One of the guys in the black suits had to look at him funny, and then erupt into laughter one second later.

"A Largo _ex_-worthy-heir visits the Repo Room? What's wrong, did he get bored of playing with knives? Would he rather play with scalpels instead?"

"Mind your tongue, Dawson," Henry snapped, stepping in Luigi's way before he had the chance to take out the dumb fuck. "This is your new co-worker, not your victim."

"Co-worker…?!"

Three or four of the Repossessors had noticed him now, and the rest weren't all that far behind. Only one woman stood out visibly from the crowd of men, and even then, she looked mildly curious rather than disturbed or terrified.

"You heard me clearly the first time, Dawson. I trust you haven't lost your hearing as well as what was left of your vision?"

A pair of red-tinged eyes glanced nervously between the two men before Dawson retreated. Luigi almost swore he saw the ghostly image of a man with a boxcutter flicker upon the wall for the briefest of moments. Was it just his imagination, or did that clown somehow get a hold of Mag's eye transplant remains…?

"Ah, I see that you haven't. _Brilliant_. Perhaps that will teach you some respect for your new friend here…who, I am proud to say, is most certainly not here to play with scalpels. He's got a much bigger goal in mind than childish gratification, I'm sure."

"Why's he here at all, then, if he's not fooling around with those other two?" another of the men growled; a rough-looking fellow with shaggy black hair, black eyes, and a full set of pointed teeth.

"How come you're not in your big, fancy house playing around with all those sheep in the short skirts? When did you give a damn about what us crows do every night? Don't you have some whining, drooling, pissing pup to fret over instead?"

"And you, too, Dog," Henry whispered, once again speaking up before Luigi had the chance to answer. He wasted no time in fixing the same look upon Dog as he'd done to Dawson, and like the first fucker that opened his mouth, he also retreated a few steps. Brilliant.

"While I'm in the company of guests, I expect you to keep a civil tongue in your head, lest you bite it off by accident. Need I remind you what _you_ had been doing when I found you in the gutter seventeen years ago? Shall I describe it for the others?"

"_No_."

"No _what_, Dog?"

"No, sir. No, sir, I'd rather you not…you know…"

"I didn't think you would."

One glance back at Luigi, and then the proper introductions were finally made.

"As you no doubt have already guessed, I have agreed to take the young Master Largo into these halls as my latest student and soon-to-be Repo Man. His job will be exactly the same as your own, as we have a certain absence to fill, and company property to recover from the streets. I will, therefore, expect you to treat him no differently than you treat the others around you. If he ever asks you a question, answer it. If he requires a special blade that you already carry on your person, share it. And if he ever notices you nosing too far into his private affairs…"

His focus flickered briefly over Dog and Dawson; the dangerous glow in his eyes slowly changing into a furious fire.

"…I may not hesitate to let him punish you exactly as he sees fit. Do be careful, everyone, won't you?"

Neither of the two Repo Men had an answer to give him, for they looked too nervous to even open their damn mouths.

"_Good_. We'll be back again some time after New Year's Day. I expect all of you to stay out of trouble until our return…or until your next assignments are taken care of. As you were."

That would make things a hell of a lot easier for Luigi, especially when it came time to go after his first delinquent organ buyer. After that…who knew where he might end up next?

* * *

"Stay close to me, kid," Graverobber said, pulling open the door of a decaying warehouse. "Stay close, and try not to stare too long at anybody else here. You might give them the wrong idea about what we're up to."

They had entered the small world of the Trade Master, a street vendor-turned-Z-collector for GeneCo who conducted his business a few miles in from the West End's coast. Rumor had it that he'd survived the Great Plague by surrounding himself with seven flaming trash barrels burning day and night, thus preventing any bacteria from entering his house and creating his own miniature hell at the exact same time. Another rumor said that he'd scrubbed the entire place down with bleach every morning and dishwashing detergent every evening, creating the same sterile environment as a hospital. Whatever the reason of his survival, his was the place all the grave robbers of Crucifixus visited to trade their Zydrate for credits and cash.

"What else would we be up to besides getting your nightly pay?"

"Seeing if there's anything in the old mailbox."

"And besides that?"

"_Nothing_. Just sayin', some of the guys here might start getting some strange ideas, that's all."

"Okay…"

And on this night, the girl in the regulation gas mask beside him would unofficially make one more of their kind on the streets. She didn't know it yet, but he wouldn't let her go home without getting her share of the cash for the stash. It was the least he could do for those few weeks she'd followed him to the graveyards, listened to his directions to sneak past the 'Cops, and finally taken just enough Zydrate to last him until his cold went away.

That, and it was just about time she got herself a new wardrobe. Those little kid dresses were just too damn small for her anyway.

"Here we go. Let's get in line over there, it's the shortest."

"Right."

Through a narrow space between two people in tattered jackets, Shilo caught a glimpse of an aging man with a pockmarked face and a few wisps of thinning hair left upon his head. Something was obviously wrong with his vision, for he tended to lean in to look at a certain object until it rested only a few centimeters in front of him.

"So, um…remind me again, what were we supposed to get?"

"Christmas party food. The guys asked for four cans of corned beef hash, four of creamed corn, two packs of mashed potatoes, and one thing of those cocktail hot dogs."

"What do they eat when they can't have cholesterol?"

"Hey, we lose all the bad weight when we run from the GeneCops, don't we? Cheating death might be healthier than you think."

"Hm-m-m…"

She frowned briefly at the person in front of them, definitely not appreciating the way they started in on a greasy hot dog after they'd bought their share of the Trade Master's wares. Was it her imagination, or did half the people here want to eat themselves into open-heart surgery…?

"Hm-hm-hm-hm-hmmm…ah, hello there. Back again, Martin?"

"Nope, Martin left town. It's Graves now, remember?"

"Barely. What'll it be tonight?"

"First, I got around six vials of pure glow to hand in, same as always. Need a closer look?"

"Well, usually I'd inspect all the deliveries, but since you're one of the honest folk, I'll trust you," the Master rumbled, sliding a hand across the rough wood and taking the full sack as his own.

"Wait here, lemme count 'em all…"

"How much does each one usually go for?" Shilo whispered, her identity safe behind the confines of the mask.

"It's ten for a vial any given day, but the hits go for two dollars per person, and one of those things can take care of up to ten addicts," Grim whispered back. "That's how we get twice the price out there than we would in here. Well, I do, at least. I take half of everything I find and bring it straight to this walkin' corpse so the hospital supply doesn't run out. I got no idea about the rest of these crows, though…for all I know, they skip the trade-off and take 'em straight to their guns. I wouldn't be surprised, that would probably feed them for a week."

"And how long will all that feed us?"

"Don't worry, I got my credits jar in one of these pockets. We'll be fine."

"Ah, yes, six vials it is. Great. You want some cash for this, or will it be credits again?"

"Nah, cash'll do it," Grim said, giving the Master a quick thumbs-up. "How much?"

"Sixty bucks, no more, no less."

"Perfect. I'll take it."

"Allrighty then, there it is…"

It was a small handful of twenty-dollar bills; yet it would last for quite a while thanks to the low prices of just about every canned food in the warehouse. Graverobber got the old man's attention again, only this time, it was for a crumpled sheet of paper dropped in front of him.

"Pretty much everything on this list."

The older of the two men had to lean almost to the edge of the counter to read Graverobber's messy handwriting. Once he'd taken two minutes or so to understand the gist of the message, however, he moved slowly to the shelves behind him to gather the necessary canned foods in order to fill the request.

"Thanks, TM, I owe ya one!"

Grim then turned to Shilo and smirked knowingly.

"See? What did I tell you, we're practically loaded. Anything we don't use here, we can stick in the jar for later on."

"What do you plan to do with all those other bills, though? Or credits, whatever they're called?"

She had that wrinkled-forehead look to her, a sure sign that she knew he was either up to something or merely suspected they would have to stop by a bank later to lock up the leftovers. Lucky for him, he already had a perfect idea in mind to calm her down.

"Well, kid, funny you should mention that," he chuckled, giving her underage style of dress a sideways glance. "How long do you plan on dressing like a first-grader?"

Her worried look changed to red-faced embarrassment, and then she looked five seconds away from slapping him for the lousy comments.

"Is there something _wrong_ with having to leave your house before the police catch you, and _not_ owning anything but little girl gowns?"

"No-o-o…it's when you're in a store and ya don't have any cash to buy anything new with that's a problem…or is it?"

He passed her the first of the twenties before she could say anything, smirking all the while.

"Call that the down payment on your new wardrobe. Whatever I don't spend at this counter, you also get to keep. How does that sound?"

The kid made a sound like a cross between a squeal and a sigh; looked around at the clothing rack; and finally stared back at him with those huge, dark eyes of hers. What else did she need to get the message, a permission slip?

"Oh, just get goin', Wallace. There's enough there for two dresses, go ahead. Live a little."

Another half-squeal, and she half-hugged, half-tackled him before darting off to the other side of the store, her fake hair trailing along behind her. _Good_. That was one of them who felt happy now, at least.

"That'll be eighteen dollars and forty-two cents, Graves."

Too bad he couldn't also be that easy to cheer up.

"Gotcha. There's a twenty for you, and thanks."

"You want the change back?"

"Sure thing. I'd better have something for emergencies, right?"

"Of course."

One dollar and fifty-eight cents went straight to the jar with the remaining twenty-dollar bill, the coins clinking against the sides.

"While I'm here…any mail tonight?"

"Nope, sorry, I would have seen it if there was."

"Shit."

"You read my mind, I haven't received any letters in a whole month. Too many people saving up their money for organs, know what I mean?"

"I know that all too well," Graverobber sighed, staring briefly at the ground. "Guess I'd better go find my associate, I wouldn't want them to—"

He'd been one step away from leaving the counter when something white and red attracted his attention. That something turned out to be a white teddy bear with a red satin ribbon around its neck, its tiny arms outstretched as though to embrace its future owner.

"How much for that one?"

"Pardon?"

"The toy right behind you. How much would a guy have to pay for it?"

The Trade Master turned and leaned over the shelves once again, stopping only when he stood nearly nose-to-nose with the small stuffed animal.

"Like I might have told you already, I'm a bit hard of seeing…but if I remember correctly, that should cost you four of the large blues and one of the little reds. Very cheap for a new item of ours, yes?"

"Damn, that's four times as much as I thought it would be," Grim whispered to himself, glaring for a moment at his half-full jar of credits. That would take a lot more out of the emergency fund than he'd originally expected, and if he went through with the sale, how much would he have left to look after the _other_ kid? Would it be enough for medicine and doctor's appointments, or would he have to count on her to tell him how to cure her ills later on?

"_Whoops_!"

" 'Whoops'? Whoops what?"

"I misread the darn price tag! It's _one_ large blue and _four_ little reds! Crap, sorry, sorry about that…"

"Easy, TM, we're good. Looks like I have enough after all, too. Here."

"Excellent. You need anybody to wrap that for ya?"

"No, I'll handle that on my own. Bit of a surprise gift, know what I mean?"

"Of course."

The bear was in his possession in an instant, and it fit rather well in the crook of his arm as well.

"Hope your young friend enjoys that, by the way. There's so little to keep the kids happy, what with these dark times and dark streets around us."

"Don't worry," Grim said to the Master, a resolved look upon his face. "I'm sure they will, and soon."


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note**: My heartfelt thanks to everyone who commented this far, and who have yet to comment. Truly, I would not have gotten this far without you.

P.S.: Bet you can't figure out where Amber's quote about saying grace comes from…;)

Chapter Eighteen: Up Above

Amber's body might have been fast asleep, but her mind was far from still.

Her dreams had taken her into the middle of a garden full of black tulips and white roses, their regular watering and nourishment creating a patch of green in the middle of so much urban decay. Through the golden light of a beautiful sunset, she could see Graverobber chasing after a tiny, giggling girl dressed in lavender and lace, a pair of matching ribbons tied carefully into her curly black hair. With the pale tone to her skin and those dark blue eyes peering out from beneath her curls, she knew without asking that she had looked into the face of her unborn daughter. As for Graverobber, he was the last person she'd expected to see in her dreams tonight; yet there he was, running around before her very eyes as though he had magically appeared out of thin air.

_Oh my god, he's come back…_

Her first instinct would definitely have been to go and join them in their game any way she could, if only to prove to herself that she wasn't imagining him standing there, let alone playing with their child. Her second instinct told her to go straight to Graverobber and run her hands through his hair to find out just how real dreams could be. And the moment she learned just that, she would hold both of them close and never let them go.

That was what she would have done if she had been awake, however. Her dream self took no notice of these thoughts, and instead sighed in exasperation before moving forward to interrupt, its black high heels clicking monotonously upon the concrete.

'

_Giovanna,_ she heard herself calling to the girl, one arm outstretched as though to pull her away from her father. _It's getting late, baby. We really should be on our way, your uncles will be expecting us._

_No, no, no, _Giovanna whimpered, turning towards her and stamping her foot. _Mommy, I want to stay. How come we always have to leave? I like it here. I want to stay with Daddy._

_Vanna, we've been through this a thousand times. We can only come here for an hour every day, and right before the sun goes down. The people in the press might—_

—_I don't care what the press people say any more! I'm staying with my daddy!_

_Vanna—_

—_NO!_

Her dream self and the images of her would-be family flickered, and then instead of watching her daughter throw a tantrum, she watched a different dark-haired girl clinging desperately to her mother's hands, sobbing loudly and fighting the grip of a man in a dark grey business suit. She wanted nothing more than to go on playing in that garden and living happily ever after; yet the man had other plans. He'd dragged her away from her mother and thrown her over his shoulder as easily as she could with her dolls, heartlessly ignoring her cries and screams as he pushed her inside a waiting limousine.

Amber woke up to the light of the daytime sun, her eyes watering as she gasped for air. She hadn't thought about her mother for twenty years running, if not longer than that. She probably wouldn't even recognize her if she were to appear at the door. Why, then, did her mind decide to lead her that far into the past…?

Blinking several times, she half-curled into a ball as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the light, pulling her knees up against the slight bulge of her stomach. She was safe in her room within the Largo mansion, a private sanctuary of dark wood, white damask, and grey coverlets. No fictional time machine had spirited her away to the past and back again in one night, for she had not moved a single inch from her bed. She had gone to sleep and woken up in that same spot as she had for years, and aside of Dad's death and taking care of herself for her child's sake, very little had changed.

Unless, of course, she were to count the fact that she had Dad's old job as well as his business firmly under her command. That had been the first solid distraction from her routine of going constantly under the knife, while her pregnancy had been her second. They had gone hand-in-hand to keep her away from the messy surgeries, and in turn, no surgeries meant no Zydrate, which also meant no more going to sleep in a dark alley and waking up in her father's study. If that wasn't enough for her to turn her life around, it was a damn good step in the right direction, at least.

Or was she only fooling herself, and just jumped headlong into a fate worse than addiction instead?

Three months, and already she found herself looking at people on the street in a different light. Before, she had seen a lovely hair installation or a successful nose attachment on various passersby, and wondered if such things would look just as beautiful when grafted onto her own body. These days, her mind focused on how the hair installation cost about two hundred to complete plus thirty-six months of one hundred and fifty each…and if that didn't work out for the buyer, they would have one hell of a close shave to deal with.

And then, as though some vile being had left such ideas there, she would imagine that close shave playing out in front of her with blood, screaming, and the sight of a masked figure slicing off the skin at the top of the victim's head to get that hair back.

She had heard countless stories of repossessed organs and other body parts at the knees of the Repo Men themselves, all of them gathered in Dad's office in those precious few hours before sundown. It had been his version of storytime for her and her brothers as they were growing up, and as they grew older, it became a sort of game for them to imagine the carnage that was dealt out by their father's hired hands. The bloodier the effects were in their minds, the better the visuals.

Why, then, should such things bother her now when she'd never batted an eyelash over them before? She had no answer to her own questions, and that only served to make the matter more confusing. She could only pull herself out of bed and force herself to walk over to the dresser, trying to clear her own mind as she went along.

_Get it together, Amber. You know how the boys will walk all over you if they think you're freaking out…_

She barely made it halfway before three loud raps sounded upon her door. One second later, the donated face she'd ended up giving to Pavi peered through the opening at her, its blue eyes glinting with unspoken mischief.

"There you are, _Sorella_! The Pavi was just speaking about you!"

_Oh, yeah? I sure as hell couldn't tell…_

"About me? Now there's a first."

She stifled a yawn before pulling the doors of her closet open wide, an assortment of business casual, gothic chic, and eclectic mash-up fashions waiting for her there. One full-length mirror on the back of each door showed her how much she might be in need of a good hairbrush and a cup of a strong caffeinated something, if not a few other things she could have taken care of in the morning.

_Morning? What…?_

Her room had no clock on the wall, but a closer look at the dimming afternoon light indicated just how long she might have rested. Another hour or so, and then evening would have swept its way across the island, turning all the light to darkness. If she had been any more tired, she might have woken up just as everyone else was falling asleep.

"How exactly did I creep into the conversation?"

"It's-a very simple. We were all-a downstairs, and you were not. Someone would have noticed eventually, yes?"

She'd expected him to be anywhere else in the mansion than waiting downstairs for her, or for that matter, standing at her door. Distractions had been his specialty since the moment he'd discovered his lifelong interest in attractive female strangers. And if his various pseudo-girlfriends were nowhere in sight, he usually would have had his own reflection to keep himself company for a while. After these obsessions had run their daily course, only then would he have gone running after Luigi for a little attention, such as a few rounds of 'House of the Dead'. The lack of these normal routine practices had raised Amber's suspicions on the spot. If she wanted to enjoy this year's holiday celebrations, she reasoned, she would have to keep her guard up around both brothers so that no disasters occurred.

"I guess so…just how long was I asleep?"

"The Pavi watched you have some toast and tea around eight in the morning, and now he comes again at four in the afternoon."

"Son of a bitch!"

"Do not slice open the messenger, _Sorella_."

"No, I mean I thought I wouldn't sleep that long. What was I doing yesterday?"

"Two board meetings, time in the office, a public appearance here and there, and a triumph over morning sickness?"

She had not felt any nausea for three days running. The opening act of her discomfort had ended, but how long would it be before the headliner act started to take effect?

"I guess…"

One of these meetings had gone on for a bit longer than its scheduled hour, now that she had been reminded of it. Apparently, the remains of a grave robber from Manhattan had washed up on the western shore, or at least, that was what the rumor mill claimed. All she felt glad about then was that they hadn't been from the Center. Now, all she wanted to do was go down to the middle of the island and see for herself whether or not those rumors were wrong.

"…I'd better go get ready for dinner, then, I don't want to keep Luigi waiting. Did you two already open your presents?

"It is only Christmas Eve, _Sorella_. The big celebrations will-a happen tomorrow, yes?"

"Tomorrow…right. I forgot. Well…I'll try not to take too much longer. Will ten minutes work for Mr. I'm-Too-Fucking-Tough-To-Be-Patient?"

"I suppose we'll-a see, won't we?"

Getting ready ended up taking her fifteen minutes to find the right dress and shoe combination, ten minutes to apply all of her makeup, and five minutes to arrange the evening's wig until not a single strand of hair looked out of place. From there, all she had to do was take the long flight of stairs to the second floor of the mansion, and then proceed to the dining room where the evening meal awaited her. Tonight would be a large gathering where the GENterns and household staff would rub elbows with GENetic Engineers, Repossessors, and other important figures within GeneCo's elite ranks. Tonight, hopefully, even her older brothers would be on their best behavior as they all made their plans for the coming year.

_Merry Christmas, Baby Dear, all your friends are waiting here…_

Three months had dragged by much too slowly for her taste, sometimes feeling like years since she'd last seen his dark lips smiling back at her. In his absence, she'd done a lot of things to assure no complications with the little one later on. Her first step had been to reintroduce fruits and vegetables back into her diet, as well as to cut down on the high-carb, low-everything-else Italian dishes she'd once been accustomed to having daily. Her second step involved regular visits to the doctor to make sure the baby's development progressed at a normal rate. Thirdly, she'd surprised herself by putting away any ideas of future surgeries, fearing that not only might the scalpels do permanent harm to the baby, but the Zydrate could terminate it altogether. And above all these safety precautions she wished that, in spite of the way she had dismissed him, Graverobber himself would appear at her window and insist on making up for those three months they'd lost. Given the chance, there would be no way she would refuse him that honor, and neither would she want to. With her ultrasound scheduled for slightly more than a month from now, they would undoubtedly have a lot to discuss.

The large, ornate clock on the wall read four forty-two by the time she entered the hallway that would eventually lead into the dining room. She quickly whispered a small prayer that the entire guest list had not been butchered by her oldest brother, and that Pavi's little tricks with limoncellos would not be repeated before all those watching eyes. Such things would be much better in private, she reasoned, or at least in the company of people that wouldn't go gossiping to the press later on. However, if there was one thing she definitely did not want to happen, it would be that either one of them dared to trash the celebration that had been prepared weeks in advance. No matter how hard they might have had it in the past, she was sure that certain traditions and procedures would have to be followed to make sure that everyone invited had the most enjoyable experiences they could.

Her culture had taught her long ago that no guest or other family member would be seated until the hostess had done so, and because of this, it was no surprise to her that everyone had remained standing until the moment she slipped through the doors. There were quite a few familiar faces here tonight as well as a few new ones—investors from the Southern end of Crucifixus, managers from the supply stores, two or three secretaries from the medical offices, at least three Repo Men, and so forth. All seven GENterns had even decided to accept their invitations, and for once, she was pleased to see them wearing dresses that covered their arms and extended well below the knees. After all, if she could dress with a certain new degree of modesty, who was to say that the other women within the company shouldn't do the same? It could improve respectability with the female side of GeneCo's clientele, something she tried demonstrating herself with her own pale green jacket and light red dress that was neither cut too short or too low. The moment she made her presence known, just about everyone in the room snapped to attention.

"Welcome to our home, everyone," she said aloud, surprising herself by speaking as clearly and respectfully as her father would have done if he were still alive. "Please be seated, for dinner is served."

A slight movement of feet and a shuffling of chairs, and one by one, the guests took their places, unrolling their napkin rings and taking out their silverware almost in complete unison. Right before the chefs moved in with the trays and serving spoons, however, one of the Repo Men sitting close to Luigi suddenly dared to clear his throat.

"Er, Miss Sweet…?"

"Yes, Mr. Van Zandt?"

"I wonder if it would be a problem if someone said 'Grace'?"

"Only if you say it out loud," she replied, giving the idiot her best smile as a few of the GENterns giggled uncontrollably. Van Zandt could only blush and bow his head in silence; his attempt at public devotion thwarted by the woman in charge. Amber herself normally didn't care about who prayed to which deity, at least until they dared to do it inside her own house. Hundreds of unanswered prayers had taught her all she needed to know about her father's God, for because he never magically left the office early or came home for dinner during her childhood, she could do nothing else but assume that He and Rottissimo Largo thought and behaved the exact same way. It would take a lot to prove to her otherwise, but until those changes came, she would be content to make her own path and see where it might lead.

The first two courses went off without a hitch, for the order of the night meant that people took their share from the serving plates and then passed them onto the next person beside them. In this way, the garlic bread and the manicotti noodles were divided evenly amongst the guests, thus reducing any potential arguments between her two brothers as well. A handful of people chatted absentmindedly about mundane things in the meantime—predictions about how much organs would be sold this coming year, what the average amount of repossession cases would be each month, and so on.

In between the second and the side dishes, she rested a hand against the small bulge and wondered if her dreams were trying to tell her something. There could be a possibility that she had seen a Giovanna for a reason. There could be a little daughter resting there at that very moment, indirectly signaling an Italian girl's name to her through the pathway of dreams. And if that little theory proved to be the truth after about one more month and one important ultrasound, well…

Amber looked back at the other end of the table, only to see Pavi and Luigi arguing about who should get the first of the two drumsticks. As competitive as the both of them were, Pavi might be slightly open to the idea of having another woman in the household, albeit one more blood relative to add to the Largo family tree. He had always been the first to go exploring when a new girlfriend or potential wife for Dad suddenly showed up on the doorstep. If he had the good fortune to do so, he also had a tendency to flirt with said girlfriend until Dad finally showed up on the scene.

On the other hand, he had been the first to throw toys at the maids when he saw the nursery redecorated in pink and lace some time before she herself was born. He'd also made it a personal goal to hide her dolls in high places where she couldn't reach them, or else to give them to the older girls he came across so that he would get on their good sides and, eventually, be the first boy they asked out on dates. What, then, would he do if he learned she had a daughter on the way? Would he end up mildly protective of her well-being, or would his niece just be the next tool he'd use to act out his twisted fantasies? There truly was no telling just how far he'd go in order to mimic all that he saw on television these days. Some sort of protection would have to be put in place…but what?

"Ah-h-h, _si_! The Pavi almost forgot something very, very important, _Sorella_!"

Pavi had lost the fight over the drumstick, but something else had stolen his attention just as quickly and made it no great loss. He had moved halfway out of his chair when Luigi slammed his knife into the surface of the table.

"Who the fuck said you could be excused, dumbass?"

"The Pavi has to go fetch something for Sister," he replied smartly, ignoring the frightened stares of the guests as he shook out his napkin.

"Special favors are his alibi, yes?"

"Like _hell_ they are! I don't remember telling you to go get her anything!"

"That's-a because _Fratello_ forgets that Pavi is not a bambino any more. The little-a box hidden in the hallway says—"

"Little box?" Amber exclaimed, interjecting in time. "What box, Pavi?"

He wasted no time in thumbing his nose at Luigi, even with the way the elder of her two brothers almost got his knife out of the table in time to stab the younger one with it. By contrast, he remained strangely calm in leaving the table and returning with the mysterious box in both hands, his dark eyes glittering with excitement.

"Oh…just this little-a box that says, 'Do Not Wait Until-a Christmas Day'?"

"Well then, don't just stand there, _damnit_! Let me see what's in it already!"

Amber got her answer the moment she pulled the box open, for that was the same moment she stared into a pair of black glass eyes set in a fuzzy white face. Someone had gone out of their way to make sure her son or daughter received their first Christmas present months before he or she was born. They had also taken the time to choose a gender-neutral teddy bear with clean, white fur and a red ribbon around its neck, much like the bears that had once been sold in department stores before GeneCo's existence. She felt an odd, numb feeling spread through her veins as the entire table looked on with interest. This gift couldn't have come from just any person on the street, because then they might have sent sympathy cards instead, or else passed on a generic gift card so that she could shop wherever she wanted and choose the presents herself.

Like the other guests around her, she wondered who might have cared that much about her and her family to do such a thing, for no names came automatically to mind. The writing on the small card that accompanied the gift box read, 'With Love, Your Secret Admirer' followed by a 'P.S.: Take care of yourself until my return.' Amber had experienced many secret admirers before, but none of them had ever been serious enough to give her presents, let alone send her one for her firstborn. Who on this island would go through all that trouble just for her sake?

It wasn't until she turned the card over that she received the greatest surprise of her evening, for within the empty space, someone had drawn a small, blue glass vial with a G written inside. She wouldn't have to go begging some higher power to get what she wanted the most this year, for Graverobber himself had answered her prayers.


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note:** I've stopped using the disclaimers because they were getting repetitive. If nobody's figured it out by now, well…Repo's not mine. There, I said it, now to the fun part…

Chapter Nineteen: Down Below

For those first three months since reuniting with Graverobber on the Jolly Roger, Shilo's dreams had consisted of little else but dark corridors, empty gardens, and blood-red doors too frightening for her to want to open. She had almost always woken with a start after those dreams, a cold sweat covering her skin and her heart rate jumping to high levels. During those moments in the dim sunlight, she would wait for all the familiar signs that warned her a blood pressure attack was close—blurred vision, bad coordination, panic attacks, and most of all, that wobbly feeling in her arms and legs that would ultimately make her lose consciousness. She also half-expected to hear the recorded words 'Blood Pressure Warning, Blood Pressure Warning, Medicate Immediately, Medicate Immediately' as she had so many times before; yet no warnings or medication notices ever came. It was as if someone had turned that part of her old life off as one might turn off a machine with a flick of a switch, freely forgetting about it all until the time came to take it out of its hiding place and put it to good use again. After a few long, slow breaths and a test of her own pulse to make sure nothing inside her beat too quickly, she found that she could lie down again and, after half an hour or more, fall asleep once more. No more dreams would come to her until the next morning sleep, and then the cycle would repeat itself.

After sunrise on Christmas Day, however, her usual dreams were replaced by a new, rather unexpected one. She suddenly found herself back home in that miniature Victorian mansion, only everything looked completely different to her than the memories of how she had originally left it. Someone had taken the time to add a few more lamps here and there, establishing the effect of a well-lit space rather than some kind of shadowy monastery. There were vases full of blooming flowers in just about every room she passed by upstairs, adding their various fragrances to what would have normally been dry, musty air. In place of the usual, deadly quiet, someone was singing in the distance. Although she could not yet tell if it was a man or a woman, the tone and beat of their song suggested happiness, excitement, or a number of any other positive emotions that had found their way into the household.

Was this truly her home, or had she crept into some unnamed fantasy land that would keep her forever in the grasp of its illusion?

She wanted to call out loud for help, yet at the same time she remained silent instead, continuing through the long hallway until she had found the most familiar of all the doors in the house. One small nudge of her hand, and the shock of no respirators, EKG machines, pill bottles, plastic curtains, or gas masks fell upon her like a bombshell. All the windows were open to the afternoon sun, and all the curtains had been pushed aside to let in the light. Her closet door had been left ajar, revealing an assortment of clothing more appropriate to a teenage girl than a small child. And not only were there the standard posters of Magdalene 'Blind Mag' Dafoe staring back at her, but evidence of her own music lessons rested in places of honor just above the keys of her grand piano and upon the windowsills.

_What the hell is this…?_

It was as though no one in her family had ever died, and the poison of GeneCo had never invaded the life stream of the Wallace household. Moreover, it was as though she'd been reassured of her health from the moment she was born, and that instead of a penned-in imaginary invalid, someone was training her to become an opera singer like her dead mother. She had wanted a life like that ever since she had been old enough to understand those fairy tale films and romance stories on television. Those people never suffered from imaginary illnesses, they always would beat the bad guys in the nick of time, and they never knew what it was like for their loved ones to die.

They had lives that were much too perfect to be true, yet unlike those imaginary characters, she received a harsh awakening the moment one of the flower bouquets began to lose its color. Like the rosebush in that old Wonderland movie, its healthy, dark red shade was nothing but paint, dripping away into a puddle on the floor.

Or was she still imagining it all, and had the paint turned into blood before her very eyes?

This place, no matter how beautiful or tranquil it looked, simply could not be home.

There was no way everything could have changed so quickly, or made to look as though she had never been sick and no one had died, or even made to look as though no one had ever told her constantly that she was sick. No matter what the soap operas, science fiction, or suspense writers claimed, dead people would never come back to life. The graveyard would always be their final resting place, and no amount of wishing upon a star would ever change that.

Neither would dreaming about such things make them any more real, and waiting for any of those dreams to come true would keep her immobile for the rest of her life.

In an instant, a large stone had appeared on the floor as though by magic, and in the next instant, something lead her to throw that stone at the nearest window, and then not only had that window shattered, but the entire, light-filled house along with it. She opened her eyes to almost total darkness, the only light in her small room shining through a porthole window. That was the way it was to wake up to the evening instead of the morning—moonlight took the place of sunlight, white stars of nighttime replaced the white clouds of the dawn, and so forth. It was the time of day for grave robbers everywhere, or so Grim had told her shortly after they had boarded the Jolly Roger together for the first time.

As of three months, one night, and two heartbreaks ago, it was also the time for her to wake up. She moved silently to the bathroom with one of her new clothing sets under one arm; then changed out of her old nightgown and hurried up the stairs to the upper decks of the ship. Already she could smell newly-baked gingerbread in the air, as well as some kind of cross between cigarette smoke and peppermint. Some old version of 'Deck the Halls' thumped from a static-filled radio system, adding to the somewhat festive atmosphere that waited a few steps away. The secondhand tree shoved into one corner indicated to her that tonight was a special night, the time of sparkling lights; carol performances; brightly-colored ribbons; and special gifts to last until next year's celebrations came. In the past, she would have also lit a candle in the underground crypt for her long-deceased mother, and prayed that she had found her Glory with all the Saints and Angels in Heaven.

In the present, she came across a much different way of remembering the dead, as well as an unexpected, eerie subject of new religious devotion. Several candles both old and new had been lit around the feet of a statue that resembled the Grim Reaper, only instead of holding a scythe, it carried a scalpel in one hand and a globe in the other. This was a figure known as 'Holy Death', an icon which had first gained followers during dark days in Mexico and slowly made its way to Crucifixus' shores where thousands more now prayed to it for divine assistance. As Graverobber had explained to her the moment she first saw it, it was a way for people to pray that the Repo Man never came knocking at their doors, and hope that someone up above was listening. It also proved how ironic the general population could be sometimes, for what once had been a devotional figure for drug dealers down South now received prayers from old women and small children alike, as well as everyone else in between. And if by chance their prayers were answered and a sudden load of cash ended up in their possession in time, well…all the better to help them see another sunrise.

But that was only half of the spiritual spectrum employed by the island's Zydrate collectors. The other half showed itself in how Grim, Norm, and Steve had gathered around a framed picture of Charlie as though they were communicants at the altar, each man carrying a bottle of Crown Royal in his left hand and a flickering candle in his right.

"Ready, guys?" Graverobber asked, glancing between the two other men.

"Let's do this," Norm agreed, raising his bottle in a half-toast.

One by one, all three of the grave robbers took a swig of beer; then spat it against the glassy surface of the picture frame. It was their way of letting Charlie have one final taste of alcohol, sent on rush delivery from the living to the dead. No matter what afterlife she had entered, Norm had explained to Shilo, hopefully their efforts would satisfy her spirit enough to let it be at rest. No matter how much her father would have frowned upon such primitive practices, Shilo had no second thoughts about bending the rules that came with modernist points of view. Education and scientific knowledge had, in her case, been forced to take a temporary back seat to survival and the formation of a tiny society within the Jolly Roger's hallowed halls. Until she got to know each of the three Z-peddlers better, she would save her intellectual discussions for another time. At this moment, she was just glad that they didn't slaughter innocents in return for success like some _other_ men did.

"Bless the soul of Charlotte Burns, wherever she may be," Graverobber intoned, his hands upturned like some twisted version of a holy man. "May she enjoy her final sip of Crown Royal, and find sweeter vintages in the bars of Elysium. May she find no agony from the Scalpel of Darkness, but instead be healed by the Greatest Doctor of Them All, and so find her rest for ever and ever. Amen."

_The Greatest Doctor_, Shilo agreed silently, but not without recalling a living doctor's hand checking her pulse. They were all in need of such a Doctor, it seemed. Only time would tell if He or She would come and make a house call.

She slowly counted to ten under her breath before entering the sitting room, the part of the ship that had once been the place where the captain gave commands to the fishing crew. Along with the makeshift devotional and memorial sites, an old table and a few ratty-looking chairs had been set around the old radar monitor screen, as well as a torn curtain hung from the main window for added privacy. Steve had once told her it was the room in which he shared a beer with his dad after the fishing season rush ended every few months. All she could think about was that his father might still be alive, and would be out looking for him if nothing bad had happened to him first. She, on the other hand, had definitely not been so lucky. With no other living relatives that she knew about, these men would have to be her family from now on.

"Ah, here comes our new partner in crime," Graverobber announced, flashing her a crooked smile upon her entrance. "Can we interest you in a few doses of gingerbread tonight?"

"No thanks, you go ahead," she heard herself say. "I'm not sure if they'll upset my stomach or not."

In truth, she would have loved to taste some from that plate on the table, but some obscure reflex had gotten in the way first. The other two men exchanged curious glances before helping themselves, while Grim just stared at her with both eyebrows raised.

"Oka-a-ay…they don't look that burnt, do they?"

"No, no, they look great. They smell really good, too. It's just that…"

Some inner agony threatened to make her eyes water, but she bravely pushed that feeling out of her system and kept a straight face.

"…I mean, do you think there's enough for everyone? And not just the cookies, but dinner, too. Can we all, you know…split it equally?"

"Let's find out."

One gesture to the other men, and the evening meal got spooned and forked out onto a set of secondhand plates. Shilo felt a little relieved that there were steamed vegetables and spiced apples to go along with the fried chicken and mashed potatoes, for she hadn't quite gotten used to anything over three hundred calories. A few minutes, and then she also saw that no one would have to go away empty-handed, for all four plates had been filled up with a little bit left over in the containers. It was good to know that someone would have seconds if they wanted them later on.

"See, kid? Nothing to worry about there."

"Good. I wouldn't want to steal from anyone who put themselves in danger to look after me."

"Heh, we don't call it stealing, Wallace. Over here, we call it sharing. Now…are you still not interested in any dessert?"

The little raisin eyes in each of the gingerbread figures seemed to wink back at her as she looked them over, and their white frosting grins made it next to impossible for her to say no. Like those kids on T.V. who constantly got caught with their hands in the cookie jars, she shoved one into her mouth with one hand and took two more with the other.

"Bravo, the holiday spirit wins out," Graverobber laughed, miming applause. "And speaking of which, who's ready to open the presents?"

"Mwhm-mm?"

The onslaught of ginger and other tasty spices were almost too strong for Shilo to think clearly. She had gotten so wrapped up in the gingerbread experience that she nearly forgot the date—Christmas Eve, 7:15 P.M., exactly four hours and forty-five minutes until Christmas Day. If she added another seven days to that, it would be the New Year before she knew it. She felt her pulse speed up slightly as a wave of thoughts, questions, and other mental impulses came upon her. How would this new family, small as it was, decide to celebrate the occasion? Did it register in their book of holidays, or would they let it slip by them in favor of other practices?

"Earth to Shilo Wallace! Come in already, will ya?"

There were still so many things she did not yet know about these three men, and the way they might react to hearing about her dream might be one of those things. They wanted her to be part of their seasonal celebrations, of course…but would their interests spread over to every aspect of her past life?

"Oh! Sorry, sorry, I didn't want to talk with my mouth full," she answered as soon as she could speak again. "Yes, I'm ready for presents if everyone else is."

"Excellent!"

The others wasted no time in passing around the small assortment of packages while she remained lost in thought. The gifts themselves were small, but easy to use—a set of ten vials each for all four of them, Z-gun cleaner, new satchels, and so forth. They would have everything they needed for the coming year utility-wise, and provided they continued to dodge the GeneCops' bullets, they would be able to do the same thing when the next twenty-fourth of December rolled around. Shilo did her best to smile along with the men and show them proper gratitude, yet to her, it was strange how she'd suddenly become silent and reflective during what would have otherwise been a happy time. It should have been a time of celebration for new beginnings and enjoying the evening with her makeshift family. Not a single soul from GeneCo had dared to look for her, so she didn't have to watch her back or suffer any fears of being discovered. She had remained safe and sound in the company of these three men. No matter how much Zydrate they stole, that greedy streak never translated over to wanting to steal her innocence also. And, above all other things, she'd never had to undergo any sort of surgery to improve herself, cosmetic or otherwise. There would never be any Repo Men coming to collect GeneCo's property from her, and she would never feel a painful death at their hands.

So why, then, was it suddenly impossible for her to feel truly happy at this moment in time?

"Okay, gang, here's the very last one! Shi, mind doin' the honors?"

She was drawn out of her stupor by the appearance of a small, flat, rectangular present pushed into her hands. Not wanting to ruin the high-spirited atmosphere, she quickly tore open the brown paper to reveal a V-disc entitled, 'The Masquerade'.

"We found it in the oldies section of the music store downtown," Graverobber said proudly. "Rumor has it this was Blind Mag's very first performance in the Crucifixus Opera House. Who knows, that just might be her picture on the back!"

"Really? Wow, thanks a million…"

She turned the disc over in her hand, and was greeted by the image of a young girl sitting in the branches of a dead tree. The hem of her once-elegant white dress hung in tatters around her feet, yet she gripped the branches around her and kept her face to the sky. It was almost as if the tree had become the girl's throne and thus her promise for a better future, or else some kind of replacement for whatever home and hearth she had lost. Whatever significance it had for the girl, it certainly looked like enough for her to keep her head up and continue on her chosen path, hoping endlessly that it might lead to brighter things in the future.

It was at that moment that she remembered what she had missed, or what she thought she had forgotten mere minutes ago. In her dream, the singing had stopped exactly when she picked the stone up from the ground, and right before the illusion had shattered, she'd heard nine little words whispered into her ear only seconds before waking up. They would be the key to her survival now, or else she would go down fighting to make those words a reality.

_Shilo, when do you plan on changing the world…?_


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note:** Kudos to Chaos for commenting on Chrysalis and The First Repo Man's Journal: The Final Entries, as well as figuring out just _where_ I got the idea for Henry, and just _who_ originally pushed the thought into my mind. ;)

Kudos also to JasmineDB for continuing to leave feedback, especially with the countless Twilight stories floating around the Internet. ;) As always, I'm glad to have new people stop by and leave feedback, even if only for a little while.

_And so, without further adieu…_

Chapter Twenty: The Ripple Effect

Tonight was the night that her personal dreamland changed forever.

There were no visions of her child in the present or past horrors she thought she'd forgotten, but rather, a sight of the future under a pitch-black sky. Neither the moon nor the street lamps shined tonight, for some great, terrible force had put them out with a wave of their hand. Even the tiny pinpricks of the stars had vanished, giving her no light to see by and no paths to follow in the night. Some dark fate had pushed her against the hard, rough brick wall of an alley she'd never seen before; and when she looked down, she saw that her fingers bled heavily from her vain attempts to claw her way over it. Her once-beautiful black dress had split on either side from her running a long distance into that alley, and when she reached up to push her artificial hair behind her ears, she found that the dark brown wig, too, lay in a state of disarray.

_Is someone there?_

Only after she'd screamed those words into the black did she hear footsteps in the background. They came along at a steady click-click-clicking of some unknown person's pace, and although they rested in the distance at first, she could hear that clicking grow louder as that unknown came closer to where she was in the midst of her escape.

_Hello? Is there anyone else here?_

Her left hand suddenly flew into each of her two pockets at a time, hopelessly searching for two hundred dollars that had never been there to begin with. She should have kept that last paycheck in the bank where it belonged, safe and sound for when her next organ payment notice arrived. She should definitely have done that with all three of her most recent paychecks; not blown them all on a new wardrobe, a high-definition flatscreen TV, and an expensive dinner party for her friends in that order. If she'd only listened to her conscience once in a while, she would have never run into this alley at all.

_Hello? Hello-o-o-o!_

She felt a rush of horror well up inside her as she realized the footsteps didn't belong to any potential rescuer, but to the killer that waited to slice open her body and tear out her heart. He or she had arranged this trap so perfectly, she had not seen the truth of it until the moment their hand reached around the corner to grab her. They had pretended to send her a love letter in the guise of her boyfriend's handwriting, and with that message, successfully lured her to one side of Main Street where she expected to meet him for a surprise late night out. Unfortunately, the time of her would-be date had also been the exact hour where everyone else had gone indoors and every shop, restaurant, bar, and sleazy dive had closed for the evening. No one else had been out on the street when she arrived, and because of the Repo's meticulous planning, no one would see her go down in a mass of blood and glinting blades.

_Please. Some…Somebody h…help m-m-m…_

But nobody would come. The footsteps just kept drawing nearer and nearer to where she stood, and no amount of screaming, crying, or begging would change that. There would be no hero rushing in at the nick of time to save her, kill the villain, and help her live happily ever after. There would also be no miraculous change of heart on the part of her Repossessor, either. That sort of bullshit only happened in Hollywood. For the actual, non-glamorized victims of the Repo Men, the scene before the ending words popped up on the screen would consist of pain, blood, and finally, their dead bodies lying on the pavement.

_Unless…_

There was only one alternative to such an end, and though it, too, would result in her death, it would also keep her from feeling the sting of the Repo's blade. There was only one other way for her to follow, and it just might help her to expire less painfully long before the Repo ever touched her. Blind Mag, foolish as she had been, had some knowledge of it when she stabbed out her own state-of-the-art eyes at the last Genetic Opera. If she had repeated the action with her heart as well, her demise might have turned out a lot less tragic. She wouldn't have felt the agony of that pointy fence turning her body into Swiss cheese, at least.

Mag had gone away a long time ago, though, so it wasn't like _she_ could give advice to that washed-up slip of a singer. No, she would just have to take care of herself like she'd always done. She would have to look for something small, something sharp, anything like a knife or a needle with which to put herself out of impending misery. She might not have anything like that in her pockets, of course, but there was no telling what she could find in this alley, strange to her as it was.

She would just have to do it quickly, because that Repossessor would have her at any minute now. She would have to think clearly and fast, or else she would just be the latest person to die on the repossession list.

_All right, Amber, focus…look around you…what do you see?_

As though by magic, just as the Repo Man turned the corner, she spied a broken glass bottle only a few steps away. All she had to do was run to pick it up, break a piece of it off in her already-injured hands, and then…

"_Agh-h-h-h-h_!"

Her killing move was never made, nor did the dream Repo get what he came for. Somehow, she woke up right before the worst happened. Somehow, no matter how hopeless the nightmare looked, she'd pulled herself back into consciousness. However, that didn't make it so she wouldn't have to take a few minutes to breathe, wipe the sweat from her forehead, and get the rest of her body and mind under control. Breathing was the only thing that could help her remember where she lay, how soft and warm the blankets were, and that she had never been in such a frightening alley in her life. Nor, of course, would she ever have to face that terrifying a sight as long as she lived. As much as her father had looked down upon her, as much as she must have repulsed and disappointed him sometimes, he had never gone to the extreme of letting her fall to the knife of one of his own agents. All of her surgeries had been paid for up front, and all of the remaining payments on her designer organs and other body parts had been taken care of in slightly under three months. Her family had never been in want of money, and so money would never be a problem for her in the future, near or far. She, unlike countless other girls who weren't as fortunate, would remain untouched by _that_ particular knife, and so enjoy a natural death instead of an inflicted one.

At least, that was her idea until a stronger, more frightening one entered her mind. Three slow breaths after she had gotten her pulse under control again, she suddenly remembered that it was only three more nights until New Year's Eve. After those three nights passed by, it would be her brother's turn to join the ranks of the Repossessors.

And if there was a Repo Man living under the same roof as she did, that could only mean…

"_No_."

She hadn't feared such things until tonight, for it was not until this night that the thought had finally sunken in. If she had originally expected that a new job would have curtailed Luigi's violent tendencies, tonight's dream had finally taught her otherwise. If she ever said the wrong thing to him at the dinner table; misspoke at a social gathering; or even forgotten to look him in the eye as he passed, what would he do to her as soon as he realized that _he_ was the one carrying the blade, and that she would be helpless before it if he stood within killing range?

And if it ever came to that, it wouldn't be the old stabbing rages of the past. That would be mere child's play compared to how he would act after one successful repossession, or five, or ten, or God knew how many waited on the horizon. If he hadn't recognized his new position within GeneCo already; then he would come to understand it the moment he knew he could harm her in whatever way he saw fit. If he wanted to keep his hands clean instead; then there would be at least two other Repossessors around to follow his orders. They had already shown up at the Christmas party for who knew whatever reason, and now they would probably follow him around like a pair of mindless groupies…or worse, bodyguards. As soon as Luigi's own route of repossession was underway, it could only be a matter of time before she, too, got sliced open, dissected, and finally left on the pavement as an empty, lifeless shell. She could have chosen to deliver her baby all for nothing, and if the worst happened, what then…?

Her thoughts turned instantly to Graverobber, still miles away in his chosen lifestyle of dumpsters and midnight Zydrate raids, but at the same time forever close within her mind and her heart. She hadn't wanted to see that pained look on his face when she insisted they keep his fatherhood a secret, yet it was there all the same the moment he agreed. Why shouldn't it have been? He had no family outside of some aging female undertaker on the West End, and even then, it had been just about eleven years since he'd seen her last. The fact that he hadn't objected to her keeping the baby already suggested that he had some inclination towards creating one of his own. The teddy bear present had proven his want to support them long before they were born, and hopefully long afterward if she read clearly enough into his actions. And, if some dreams had a way of coming true, the dream she'd had about that encounter in the garden could begin and end under slightly happier circumstances than what she had originally seen. How, then, would he feel if someone told him that his potential family had been murdered? She couldn't visualize the look of devastation that would take him over if her nightmare came true. She wouldn't ever want such a dark situation to get that far, for she valued his safety and happiness too much.

Neither, in a way, would she want to imagine what might happen to Pavi if Luigi ever decided to do his absolute worst. As sick and twisted as his mind had obviously become, he had still gotten this whole stream of thought going by delivering Graverobber's present and mystery message to her. Whether it had just been to annoy Luigi or to soften her up for some later bargain, she had no complaints or cares. What she did know was that, without Pavi's assistance, she wouldn't have received the present at all, and so not ever caught a glimpse of just how willing Graverobber could be when it came to helping their child as well as his or her mother.

At the same time, Amber knew she couldn't afford to look paranoid to anyone, especially Grim. She didn't want to look like the spoiled child who let her emotions get out of control when something didn't go the way she wanted it to. There was a chance, of course, that the trouble she imagined was just an over-reaction to her brother entering the workforce. It could just be some psychological shit rearing its ugly head, like a bad case of separation anxiety or a twisted episode of abandonment issues, or maybe even that old jealous bone in her body freaking out that he might start hanging around with other people besides the ones in his own home.

She might also make Graverobber think that she was trying to fill the void that the Zydrate left behind, exchanging one addiction for another by begging him to make sure there were no monsters hiding under her bed or, more specifically, under her roof. She would have to make sure he was all right before she started babbling about her own safety, for with two grave robbers' remains showing up in odd places, there might be a chance of a real risk to him instead of an imaginary danger to her. She would have to break the ice of three months' absence with a topic to interest them both, as well as a reason to get him to come straight to the mansion so that she could speak to him secretly, but directly.

Still…it couldn't have been a mere coincidence that Pavi had tried to warn her of something serious, especially shortly after she'd broken the news of her pregnancy to him and Luigi. He had hinted of something dangerous over breakfast about two weeks later, furtively lowering his voice as though trying to get her in on some naughty secret. Apparently, according to him, Luigi's 'well-wisher' had had something else on his mind besides offering condolences for the loss of their father. Words like 'stab', 'pain', and 'knock her out' had been used, and all while Pavi had been pretending to lie under the effects of Zydrate for his _poor_ broken nose. He had said all this to her while Luigi was conveniently out of the room, so originally, she had just laughed it off and made short work of her oatmeal, mentally writing it off as a prank between the two. However, as time passed and that 'well-wisher' started coming around the mansion to help Luigi prepare for his new job, suddenly it didn't seem like that much of a prank any longer. Some dark, unexplained plot was being created behind her back, and if her fears were correct, it would affect not just herself, but anyone and everyone close to her if Luigi and this strange man had their way in the end.

And so, for those family members resting nearby; far away; and safe inside her, she would have to make sure that at least two of them remained on their guard at all times. In this way, perhaps, they could work together to assure that the third got his or her chance to live peacefully as well. For those three important, precious reasons, she turned on her bedside lamp; slowly pulled herself out of bed, and went back to work filling out her first invitation for the upcoming New Year's charity ball. The time had come to revisit some old memories and, if she planned everything just right, perhaps also make some new ones.


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note**—It has come to my attention that a 'Secret Book of Repo Fan-Fiction' has been published and handed out to the folks at the latest Comic-Con. For that reason, let me reiterate that I'm not making a single penny off of writing this stuff. Let me also say that I know a plot like the one in this fic will probably **NEVER** happen when the sequel is made, or for that matter, the prequel. Romance doesn't end happily in the Repoverse, at least going by the Rotti-Marni-Nathan triangle alone. That much I understand, and I won't pretend it's otherwise not just for my own sanity, but for the happiness of people that come by this account. To that end…this is merely a thought as to how things _could_ have gone in the future, not how they _will_ go. That's entirely up to the original creators, of course. In the meantime…I hope no one out there objects to me living on Fantasy Island for a while. Thank you and goodnight.

Chapter Twenty-One: Deep Impact

_He can't be serious about this_, Shilo thought, her hands shaking from the shock of Graverobber's announcement. _I can't believe he wants to go to this thing. How can he even think about it? It's way, way too dangerous!_

She'd been dreading a day like today ever since he'd finally let it slip that he'd sent a baby gift to Amber Sweet's mansion, intending that it get passed onto their son or daughter as soon as he or she was born. She'd felt sick to her stomach when she found out just how he'd gotten that gift carried straight to the mansion's front door. The Trade Master had disguised himself as an aging postal worker, talked his way into getting past the main gate, and once there, narrowly convinced one of Amber's older brothers, Pavi Largo himself, to make sure it got to Amber.

The request had not come without a cost of Pavi's own, of course, for the black market trader had later returned to his shop with an empty wallet, no more antique wristwatch on one arm, and a strange look on his wrinkled face. Although he later assured the whole group that it was a fair trade and that he was more than happy to help out his friends, doubts had already begun surfacing in Shilo's mind about the possible consequences.

For starters, any number of people could have witnessed the surprise visit and mentioned it to their friends, who could have in turn mentioned it to their friends and, as the paths of the grapevine often went, at least one of those friends could have told a gossip reporter all about it. In the end, what could have been someone's little secret could get reported to the entire island, thus ruining the chance of keeping other, much older secrets from the general population. And as far as she was concerned, those secrets had nothing to do with revealing some kid's paternity to the rest of the island. There were worse discoveries that could be made, like just where the so-called 'real' heir to GeneCo had disappeared to. And if anyone, be they scrounging by on the street or living it up in the Largo mansion, saw that one thing for themselves, how long would it be before GeneCops surrounded the ship, demanding that she be handed over into their custody?

More importantly, however, there were her three custodians to worry about. She had narrowly convinced the first two to take her in a few months ago at that bar downtown, and if she had not mentioned the name of the third, chances were they might have turned her away in the end. That little connection had guaranteed her a somewhat quiet life afterward, one blissfully devoid of medicine, madmen, and murder. She'd been given the freedom to choose her own wardrobe, enjoy desserts and snacks whenever she liked, and try her hand at gathering Zydrate to earn herself some money. All three had gone through a lot to keep her safe thus far—risking a confrontation with Amber Sweet, narrowly sidestepping the arrival of Luigi Largo, keeping her hidden on board the Jolly Roger, and last but not least, being careful never to let her name slip or mention her moving in with them while traveling the streets at night. Because of this, she had started having nightmares about watching either Graverobber or his two friends die painfully, and only a few hours ago, envisioning that they had all been murdered together. She had hoped to forget that horrible image this evening, but Grim leaving the ship and returning with a letter from Amber herself had ended all hope of that happening. And once he had finished reading that letter and telling the rest of them his plans for the New Year, the nightmares seemed well on their way to coming true.

"Looks like I might not be working New Year's Eve after all," he said out loud, almost looking smug as he tucked what might have been an invitation into the left pocket of his jacket. "I might just have different plans this year."

"Plans?" Shilo had blurted out a short time ago, feeling something inside her flinch. "What plans?"

"Reconnecting, reuniting, all that jazz. Apparently my little surprise went off better than I expected. Now I'll get to have some time alone with the Boss Lady over at the Charity Ball."

She counted exactly thirty seconds before the panic set in, her breath laboring and her hands shaking as though she were about to have another imaginary blood pressure attack. How could he suddenly look so damn pleased with himself? Didn't he have any idea just who _else_ might be attending a party like that? How come no one in the Largo family could be content with what they had? Why did they always have to take something of _hers_ away first…?

"The 'Charity Ball'."

"Yeah, kid, that's the idea."

"And what kind of charity has GeneCo given out lately?" Shilo snapped, her tone suddenly growing cold. "Is it the kind where they pretend to want to help you, only to stab you in the back when they've convinced you to trust them?"

Both of Graverobber's friends stopped their respective dish washing and radio channel surfing to give her a set of curious looks. They could stare at her all they wanted as far as she cared. She had more important things to deal with than their opinions right now.

"Is it the kind of charity where they promise a cure, only to leave you as twice as bad off as you were before? Are they planning to act as though they're saving lives, and then when a handful of people can't pay, they'll go ahead and end those lives instead? Is that the kind of charity you're talking about?"

She didn't push him into telling her how wrong he thought she was, or get him to yell at her and order her to be quiet. That's how things would have been in the safety of her own home, no matter how far away it seemed to be now. Here, he only scowled in silence with one eyebrow raised, waiting for her to continue her tirade. Maybe she would, if only to get him to get his act together and stop running back to that spoiled, indulged mansion brat who lived in luxury while _he_ had to scavenge for his supper.

"Okay, so you're excited about going to see your girlfriend or your baby mother or whatever the hell she's supposed to be. Good for you! What about the rest of us, Grim? What if something goes wrong up there, and we don't hear about it until it's too late? How do you think I—how _we're_ going to feel when we find out you've been arrested…or worse? What's all this about a fair trade? I don't…I can't…"

She could feel a sense of dizziness threatening to drag her down, a rapid change of heartbeat pounding in her ears, and then she was watching Graverobber as though trying to see him through a thick haze. He was holding her up with one arm and pulling her towards the couch with the other, growling at Norm to move the hell over and give her some space. Instinctively, her left hand moved towards her right as though to turn off some electronic device, but no device of that kind existed on her wrist. Instead, her right hand twitched and moved to pick something up, though it found nothing but empty air.

_Shilo…_

A voice spoke to her through that strange haze, forcing her to sit upright and pay attention.

_Shilo, take your medicine…_

"W…What…?"

"I said come on, Wallace, snap out of it. We're here. Damnit, Frye! Didn't I say get her some water already?"

"My pills. I can't find them…I can't find my pills…"

"What pills?"

"You too, Preston! Just let her drink, for Death's sake!"

"Okay, okay, I got it! Here, happy now?"

Someone pushed a glass of cool liquid into her hand, and soon she found herself calming down somewhat with the help of the water she'd been given. It might not be enough to get Grim to change his mind, but it definitely was enough to make him stay a little while longer and not leave her on the spot.

"What was that she said about pills?"

"Nothing, Frye. She thinks she needs them, but she really doesn't."

"Why did she mutter about them, though? What's the big deal about medicine all of a sudden?"

"Also nothing," Graverobber insisted, bravely ignoring the curious looks of the other two men. "I'd talk about it myself, but I don't want to upset the kid any further."

"Okay, so why don't we ask her, then?" Norm pressed. "She brought them up already, didn't she? What's this about her pills that we can't—"

"—I said, I don't want to talk about it. It's not my business, so don't ask me. And if she wants to talk about it in detail, she'll do it on her own time, all right?"

"All right, all right," Steve agreed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "The girl talks when she wants to talk. We get it."

"Good." Grim jabbed a finger in the direction of the door to the lower deck; then helped Shilo up as he started walking towards it. "We'll be downstairs if you need us before work tonight. Otherwise, we're gonna need a moment alone to talk."

"Gotcha. See you in a few."

Shilo didn't notice the sound of the door closing behind them, the long walk down the steps, or the other grave robbers' voices fading into the background. Those were all irrelevant when they compared with where she was headed, and also exactly with who. She could think and worry freely about Graverobber himself now, for with him walking along beside her, it was next to impossible to consider thinking about anyone else. How different it had become since a few minutes ago, for back then, she was almost sure he would be leaving her forever. Now, she could hardly wait to ask him if he planned on returning from the party, let alone coming back to the ship. And if so, well…they could go back to work, play, and life in general once this whole mess of a New Year's celebration had ended, couldn't they? She'd come too far to let one more Largo—any Largo—ruin it for her all over again. This time, if they tried messing with her, she'd find a way to fight back and try messing things up for them instead. This time, things would be different.

"All right."

Graverobber had brought her to the TV room again, and like the last time she'd gone down there, she moved hesitantly over to the couch just in case he was about to ask her to watch a program in order to calm down. However, unlike last time, he motioned for her to stay put.

"Not so fast, kid. There's something we better talk about first."

_Here it comes,_ Shilo thought, feeling herself tense up in anticipation of his rejection. _Does he know? He has to know. He wouldn't miss a thing, not ever…_

"Yeah…?"

"I saw ya get mad before, Wallace, but that's the first time you almost passed out on me. What's the deal? Is having no fake medicine bothering you again?"

_He doesn't know. He _never_ noticed a thing. Wonderful…_

She felt a blush creep slowly across her face, and turned her gaze to the ground so that he could go on not noticing the way she kept looking at him.

"Oh. I mean, no. No, I feel just fine tonight. I've been fine since September."

"Yeah? Then how come we all heard you whimpering about pills just a moment ago? Why would you look for 'em if you didn't need them any more?"

"I don't know. Really. I guess it was just some old reflex kicking in."

"Reflex?"

"I had to swallow those things ever since I was old enough to learn my ABC's. Every time I got nervous or scared, or when the usual doses stopped working, I had to swallow them. It's obvious I'd fall back into old behavior when I got upset, then, isn't it?"

She blushed even worse when she looked back into those dark blue eyes again, yet all he did was nod silently, no emotion registering on his face. Just what was going on in that mind of his?

"Maybe. Yeah, it might be…but why get upset at all? It's just some party, Wallace. It's not like I'm marching off to war or anything, now, is it?"

"That 'party' is going to have GeneCops and Repo Men swarming all over it. What a coincidence."

"How do you know?"

"I sneak in news reports when Frye's not busy with the T.V. I have my ways."

Now it was his turn to look away and act like the embarrassed one, or at least, he appeared that way. All the better to convince him to reconsider, then.

"You have your ways. I see."

"Yes. And when they see you, because they will, they'll remember all the laws you're breaking and come after you on the spot. Your face must be on a hundred wanted posters by now, right?"

"A thousand."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm featured on a thousand posters, not a hundred. The folks down at the Trade Center counted them all for me."

"A hundred, a thousand, what's the difference? They'll still know you're there, won't they? And when they do, what's stopping them from doing that whole shoot-on-site thing?"

What she expected was an apology, a promise to not attend the party at all, and maybe even a combination of the two. That would have made her feel better in an instant, and she would have been able to put all fears of her new family being destroyed to rest.

What she got was his usual smirk and a jab of his thumb towards one corner of the room, where a box lay half-opened on the table. Even with the threat of Repo Men and GeneCops hanging over his head, he just couldn't take the worst-case scenario of his situation seriously.

"Okay…what's in the box, or am I not supposed to know?"

"That's where I'm keeping my disguise for New Year's Eve, Wallace."

"Your disguise?"

"Yeah. They don't call 'em masquerade balls for nothing. With all the guests hiding their faces, nobody's gonna know I'm there."

"And they've never heard your voice before, right? What about being able to tell the difference between your disguise and everybody else's?"

"That's a coffin full of 'Not on your life' and a tombstone made of 'No chance'."

Not to mention he also couldn't help acting smug about the whole thing. Way to make a girl feel better.

"I figure as long as I don't look too different from all the other guests, I'll blend right in. Good thing Amber sent me that mask ahead of time. All I'll have to do is match something up to its colors, and I'll be set."

"Did she send you an invitation as well?"

"It came with the mask. I'm as good as in there already, give or take a few days."

"And the GeneCops…?"

"If I see them coming or hear them planning my demise, I'll get the hell outta there."

"You're sure?"

"As sure as shovels love the soil."

Smug as he was, he also looked ready to take the risk and rub elbows with GeneCo's elite. Whether or not they captured him in the end hadn't even registered with him yet. Instead, the idea of running off to see Amber Sweet again seemed to take top priority, and all of the problems she'd listed seemed easily taken care of. What was it about this obnoxious, selfish, drug-obsessed idiot that he found so appealing?

"All right."

The nightmare of Graverobber's painful death sprang back into her mind, yet Shilo found herself nodding in agreement just the same. There would be only one thing for her to wish for while he was away, and that was the idea of him coming back again unharmed.

"Just promise me that you won't pick any fights while you're there, okay?"

"'Cross my heart, and hope to be repossessed."

"Thanks for the harmless mental picture, Grim."

"Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Okay, okay. Let's just get back upstairs, all right? The others are waiting for us."

They returned together to the T.V. room, where both Norm and Steve had gathered around the screen to watch the latest news broadcast. From what the headline bar and the news ticker reported, some breaking story had just hit the airwaves.

"What's the talk of the island tonight?" asked Shilo, leaning over the couch for a better look.

"It's time to pick the orphans again," Norm answered. "Three names tonight, just like all those years ago and since then. Only difference is, it's the boss lady's turn."

"Surprise, surprise…"

Shilo could see that Amber Sweet had chosen a white dress, a dark blue coat, and a blond wig for the occasion; but she barely paid attention to the first few minutes in which Laura Sveinn from the South and Saffron Romey from the North were chosen from GeneCo's little black box. All she could think about was how Graverobber was so eager to leave her own company and dash off to _her_, and barely cared about his own safety or if and how much any harm that came to him might affect her already-fragile emotional state. It wasn't until the third name was drawn that she snapped back to attention, for all three of the grave robbers had turned to look both at her and amongst themselves in silent alarm.

"Our third orphan to be selected," Amber read in a low tone, almost hiding her own surprise at having found that particular name, "Is Shilo Wallace."


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note:** I hope you will all excuse me for my lateness here…but I had a lot of thinking to do for the second half of this story, and that took me some time to create a proper upcoming chapter to kick things off. It's about to get dark in this particular fic, so…I hope you will all join me in hanging around, reading, commenting, and otherwise turning on the safety lamps so that we can all light our way through to the end. And so, without further adieu…I give you the twenty-second chapter. Thank you, good night, and a very merry Christmas.

The Darker Side of Humanity

"Why did it have to be New Year's Eve?" Amber Sweet asked the reflection in her full-length mirror. "Why did it have to be Shilo Wallace?"

She'd been all too happy to forget she'd ever seen that skinny little brat at the Opera, or that someone else's daughter had somehow gained her father's affection only hours after she herself had lost it. Shilo had done Amber a huge favor by refusing GeneCo as a possible inheritance, turning away from that waiting limousine in front of the theater, and vanishing completely into the crowd without any signs of planning to return. With that convenient act displayed across news and tabloid reports alike, Amber had then been free to trade her father's unsigned will for one final vial of Zydrate, and no one on the entire island had spoken of either Wallace or the will since then. The image of that weeping, bloodstained orphan had been locked away with her memories of Mag's, Dad's, and that Repo Man's dead bodies, and she had been content to continue with her life with no interruptions. Work and parenthood had been brought to the forefront, thus filling the void that only one of those deaths might have originally created. She had seen a somewhat stable future ahead of her because of those two factors, and so she had focused her goals upon them so as to bring both to fruition.

Unfortunately, her disregard of Shilo had suddenly created a third, unwelcome factor to the equation. She had wanted to believe that the girl had traveled far away from Crucifixus, disguised herself with some wig and a change of clothes, and spent her time slaving away in some black market shop for low pay, or better yet, forced to prostitute herself to disease-ridden strangers for her bread and butter. That would have made her sicker than Dad had claimed her to be, and then she would have wasted away a whole lot faster before anyone dared to come looking for her. In Amber's opinion, three months would have been enough time to suffer heart failure, botched organ transplants, fatal blood clots, and a host of other ailments to put the brat inside an early grave. With Wallace out of the picture, she could have focused on protecting herself from her renegade oldest brother, and so continued with her already-stable lifestyle.

Instead, whoever chose the names for the special guests at the New Year's Ball just had to make a statement by inviting Shilo. Somehow, the one person she had hoped to forget had not yet been ignored by the rest of Sanitarium Square. And if whoever had put Shilo's name into the box had their way in the end, the Charity Ball would be remembered solely as the night that Shilo Wallace reappeared, and never as the night that Amber Sweet showed a true, new face to the rest of the world.

"Why? Why can't you just go away, and _stay_ gone, even?"

She had been in the middle of trying on her new gown when that memory had interrupted everything. It was as though she could no longer see herself looking splendid in the black patterned white silk, black gloves, and matching wrap. Instead, she could only visualize Shilo standing a short distance away, gathering the attention of thousands of photographers and, as though to flaunt the media's instant sympathy and affection for her, posing like an actress in a shorter white dress with a black lace collar. A large silver bracelet would be fastened around her left wrist as a clear mockery of that blood pressure monitor she used to wear. In this way, the younger, thinner girl could say to the world, 'Look at me. Look at how I'm no longer sick and kept away from the rest of you. Look at how prettier _I_ am then that bloated junkie in the background'. And if the media could easily choose her, how long would it be before someone in GeneCo remembered who the true heir was supposed to be? How long would that same person take to start asking questions about just where Daddy's will had disappeared to? How much longer after that would Shilo change her mind, finally, and decide that maybe she wanted Rotti Largo's livelihood after all?

"I can't let that happen, Baby Dear. I _won't_ let that happen. Never. _Never_."

Without thinking, Amber picked up one of her many jewelry boxes and threw it straight at the mirror.

"_Never_!"

The impact left a shattered dent the size of a baseball where her face had once been reflected back at her. The pure, clear image had now been cut into pieces like a twisted mosaic; a hundred copies of her face reflected in the broken glass. How easily common household objects could take on aspects of their owners. How easily, also, could they come to represent the crises happening around them.

There were so many ways that Amber could have chosen to deal with her broken mirror, as well as with the Repo Man's daughter. If she'd continued with her bad habits, she would have taken a vial of Zydrate and forgotten everything until the next morning rolled around.

If she'd been a superstitious person, she might have thrown salt over her shoulder and crossed herself three times to ward off any possible years of bad luck. She might have then gone to the nearest astrologer, asked to have a card reading, and so found out just how Shilo would affect her future, as well as the proper way to sidestep that future.

If she'd been a religious person, she might have ran off to the nearest church to pray for guidance, answers, and anything else that could possibly help her later on.

If she'd been a social person, she might have counted on the advice of half a dozen girlfriends from school to fix not just the issue with Shilo, but also how to properly respond to her brother's new line of work.

Unfortunately, with only two days left until the Charity Ball, she didn't have time for prayers, drugs, idle chatter, or superstitions. She could only stare at the mirror in silence, and hate the fact that unlike the surgery chair, there were no easy solutions to her problems.

The seconds passed by slowly as though they were hours, and although Amber thought as hard as she could, no sudden answer dared take her by surprise. Time was meaningless here, for she had no idea of just how long the mirror's remains held her attention as she never kept a watch or clock close by. It wasn't until she heard footsteps on the tile floor that she snapped to attention, for whatever person was in the hallway was also coming straight to her bedroom door.

"Who's out there?"

A small twinge of fear took over her mind as she recalled that vivid nightmare she'd had barely twenty-four hours ago. She had no idea whether or not one of her older brothers was coming to pay her a visit, or if some other well-wisher or stranger had found their way into her house and wished to check in on her. Neither, also, did she know if it was someone she'd met at all, or whether some unwanted guest had forced their way past Luigi and Pavi together in order to get at her without any interference. On the other hand, with the floor covered in shards of glass, she now had a surprise weapon to keep herself safe if her nightmare was on the verge of coming true. Amber bent down to gather a few of the largest pieces; then hid herself in the corner as the footsteps stopped right outside her door.

"_Sorella_?"

There would be no need to fight off any intruders today. As for tomorrow or the next day, hopefully she could wait on that.

"I'm in here, Pavi."

She stepped away from that glass-covered spot on the floor just as Pavi took a step inside, a look of feigned agony in his eyes.

"Ah, _Sorella_, why did you have to go and break your lovely mirror? The Pavi thinks you might get seven years bad luck for that!"

"I don't give a shit about that seven year stuff," Amber snapped, glaring at him. "I might have bigger things to worry about now!"

"_Mi scusi_?"

"You already know damn well what, so don't go on keeping secrets, okay? Remember when you said you overheard Luigi and that old Repo Man plotting something in the hospital?"

"The hospital? Ah, _si_, the hospital, how could the Pavi forget? All-a the pain he had to go through, all-a the horror he had to deal with, all over his poor, _dear_, broken—"

"—Yes, all right, you hated Luigi punching you in the face," Amber interrupted, already feeling annoyed with him. "That's over now, isn't it? We've got more important things to worry about than our own faces, don't we?"

"Oh? Such as?"

"Well, you remember that stupid little girl at the Opera, don't you? Shilo something-or-other?"

"What about her, Sorella?"

Pavi's voice might have remained calm, but she could see hatred flashing in his eyes as he spoke. _Good_. If she'd had any dark plans for this kid before, then she could only guess that her brother's could be twice as rotten as her own.

"I pulled her name out of that box of all the island's orphans, didn't I?"

"You did, Amber. You did."

"And any of the three orphans who get chosen usually come, don't they?"

"Si, Sorella, I believe they do. Why do you ask?"

Amber glanced warily at the doorway, saw no one else waiting or listening in there, and then returned her attention to Pavi.

"How long has it been since you played your limoncello game?"

Hatred changed quickly to savage interest, demonstrating to her how fast he'd caught on to her idea.

"Too long, Sorella," he acknowledged with a twisted grin. "Much too long."

"You might not have to wait forever to try that again, you know," she went on, determined that they both remember all the details.

"There could be a lot of new people there on New Year's Eve…a lot of female faces, too…maybe even a tiny, homeless waif we all learned to hate. I take it you won't have a problem teaching her the rules of your game, of course? And that you'll know what to do with her if she wins?"

He didn't have to say anything to answer her, only nod in silence. In his mind, the drug in that one special limoncello had kicked in, rendering the girl conscious but almost totally helpless, allowing him to do just about anything to her that took his fancy for the moment. Oh, he'd play nice to her and the other girls at first, no doubt about that. He'd reel them in, convince them all that he meant them no harm, and finally, offer them a round of sweet, lemony drinks. After the last swallow was taken, however, he would be free to do as he pleased with the lucky winner Amber had in mind. Until then, he'd behave himself in public, count down the days until the Ball in private, and imagine all the ways he could traumatize Shilo Wallace right up to the moment she crossed his path in person.

"Perfect. Keep an eye out for any small, skinny girls wandering around by themselves, and make sure nobody's watching them from afar. Oh, and one more thing…"

She took a deep breath and looked him square in the eye, quietly glad that he'd shown her enough respect to stay where he stood until he'd heard everything.

"…Don't tell Luigi. We can take care of this ourselves, right?"

His smile never faltered for a second, even as he planned to tear the stability of GeneCo out from under her for his next trick.

"And we will, _Sorella_. Indeed, we will."

* * *

"Damn you," Shilo whispered to the empty suit hanging before her, tears filling her dark eyes. "Damn you! Damn you!"

She'd tried to get Graverobber alone before their group went out scavenging for the glow, but he'd left right after breakfast, insisting on seeing the Trade Master over what he'd called 'a few loose ends'. Several hours later, when she'd finished helping Norm make his nightly rounds, he'd brought home a little something called 'formal dress for a formal evening'. She could call it nothing but 'suicide' and 'a deathday suit', because for all she knew, he was willingly headed right into a trap.

As much as he'd tried to comfort her and ease her worries, she knew for a fact that not all traps ended in death or dismemberment. With the appearance of Amber's invitation to that stupid dance, there was always the chance of a living separation, a foolish choice to abandon the good life he had here on the Jolly Roger as well as the others who shared the ship with him. Tonight might be the last night she ever got to speak to him, and if so, special action would have to be taken. After tonight, if he decided to leave the South and continue his life in the Center, she might no longer have the opportunity to tell him what had been trapped in her mind these past three months. After tonight, she might never know the one thing that just about every other girl on this island got to learn about, freely and happily, for good or for bad.

She'd fallen for him, and she'd fallen hard.

During that first time she'd snuck out of the house to go after the glowing bug, he'd been the very first man she'd ever seen besides her father. For that reason, every time she escaped again, she barely thought twice about following him wherever he decided to lead her. As she had read in one of Dad's old science books, it was as though she had been a newborn girl animal hatched out of some brick-and-mortar egg, and Grim the first human creature to cross her path, resulting in this oddball romantic imprinting process. She had a scientific excuse for her behavior, then, as well as the more personal fact that he looked ten times more attractive than any of the other men she'd come across since her 'hatching'. Pale skin, deep voices, and crude senses of humor seemed to be her thing lately. And why not? He had been the one to lead her away from the GeneCops after her first time in the alleys. He'd pulled her just out of Amber's reach when they'd escaped the surgery tents. He might not have been the first to take her in after the Opera, but she didn't mind that so much now. He'd returned to her willingly long after Amber had let him go, and that was enough.

It was enough to suggest that she might have a chance with him after all.

He'd also been the one to take her outside for a decent wardrobe update, as well as introducing her to her first real job. That way, instead of being shut in all day long and feeling sorry for herself, she now had some idea of making money for herself, and putting a little of it away for safe keeping until she found a reason to use it later. And her first taste of that gingerbread? _Oh-h-h._ A lot of time might have passed by since that special first Christmas with her new family, yet she could still feel the warmth and spices in her mouth as surely as she had right after that first bite. So, also, did she remember noticing how happy he looked for the first time since she'd found him again.

If she had that effect on him now, that feeling could always grow stronger later.

And moreover, unknown to him or the other two grave robbers, she knew that a lot could happen in six months. It had taken barely a week for her entire life to change, so why not Grim's or Amber's as well? For all she knew now, some new man could come into Sweet's life and make her forget she ever met the Graverobber. That would leave the path to his heart wide open, and she then would not hesitate to follow it until she made it to the place where Amber used to be. There was also the chance of miscarriage; tragic, yet true for a lot of new parents from what she'd watched on T.V. once. Not every living embryo implanted themselves in the uterus in time, which could only mean it could slip out between Amber's legs long before she noticed it was missing. The same result could come from abnormal chromosomes, too. She'd felt positive about the kid before, but that was back when nobody tried to take Graverobber away from her. Now, at the risk of being all alone again, the only thing Shilo wished for now was a fast end to that piece of Largo spawn.

It would be hard on Amber and maybe the rest of her family, no doubt, but at least they had their other two siblings to fall back on. She had no one to turn to but Grim, and all because Amber's sick, demented dad had seen to that. If Amber had her way tomorrow night, she'd take that away from her as well, leaving her no better off than she'd been at the end of the Opera.

Why did they have to be so greedy all the time? Why were they always so cold when it came to her family? Couldn't they leave something for her to keep, anything at all that she could truly call her own? Couldn't they just be content with each other for once, and let her hold onto Grim as long as she could?

Out of the three remaining Largos, only Luigi had shed any tears over Rotti's death. The other two had remained dry-eyed through the entire evening, somehow content to watch her sob herself dry over her own father's corpse. It couldn't hurt them all that much, then, to go through some true grieving of their own. Those killing, maiming, manipulative freaks could get a little of their own medicine shoved down their throats before they knew it. Those monsters could…

_Shilo, be more patient!_

Her father's voice had broken into her mind again, only instead of making her feel better, she now felt twice as angry. She might never have fallen into this mess at all if _he'd_ just been honest with her for once. He could have let go of his grief over Mom eventually, and then he would have seen his only daughter instead of a living copy of his dead wife. He could have chosen to let her live a somewhat normal life with no pills, no masks, and no locked doors in the entire house. He could have not tried to turn Mag away in the first place, giving her at least one other person to talk to every day and night. He could have even never chosen to kill for Rotti's sake, and then he would have been the perfect, blameless doctor she had always believed him to be. He could have let her be a normal, healthy girl, allowed to run around in the sunshine and let the wind blow through her hair, completely without a care in the whole wide world. Instead, he'd been content to let everything in their combined life fall apart, leaving her with nothing, no one, and no plan to make sure she survived.

No wonder she'd fallen for Grim so quickly. If there was any truth to the old rumor on how women fell for men that reminded them of their fathers; then he'd become just as careless as the late, great Doctor Repo Wallace. And if he set no safety precautions in place by tomorrow night, she'd be just as safe as she'd been right after Dad's death. When was this craziness ever going to end?

"Hey, Shi? You in there, kid?"

She must have been so lost in thought that she didn't hear him come in. It could have been that, or else she'd almost sobbed herself into another panic attack. Either way, he had walked in and stopped right behind her, touching her shoulder to try and get her attention.

Little did he know, he'd always had it ever since their reunion.

"What's eatin' you, Wallace? You still worried about that charity thing tomorrow?"

_Grim, if you only knew,_ she wanted to say, yet she found herself nodding silently instead. It was all she could do to keep from sobbing out loud.

"Hey, it's only a dance, kid. Nobody ever showed up to something like that with a gun in their pockets, now, did they? For all we know, they'll have to leave their weapons at the door, right?"

Guns were the last thing she wanted to worry about now. That was exactly how Dad had died in the first place, shot down point-blank as if he were no better than a grave robber himself. For that reason, Graverobber's words were far from comforting. In fact, they just about made her want to cry worse. Maybe she'd started to do that already, if the way he put his arms around her was any indication of her emotional level. She loved the way he paid attention to her now, though. It reminded her of all those times she'd woken up from a nightmare, only to see her father waiting there to comfort her. Perhaps, if she held back for just a little while longer, she could know what it felt like for him to comfort her instead.

"All right, okay, forget I said that. Come on now, listen…"

He'd put a finger under her chin to get her to look at him, but in doing so, he'd also caused her to make the first move. Not only had she looked back at him, into those eyes as blue as Zydrate itself, but she also broke the silence by leaning in for a kiss. It wasn't until he pulled away that she finally stopped herself from doing too much.

"…What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, kid?"

Unfortunately, Graverobber was too surprised and annoyed to see that.

"What the hell was that all about? _Huh_?"

His warm, carefree tone had vanished completely, leaving an icy voice and a scowling face for her to deal with instead. She'd never seen him that upset before, not even after he'd first learned of his impending fatherhood. He'd always been her friend until this moment, and for that, she could only back away in silence, shaking her head and raising her hands in a quiet plea for forgiveness. He backed away a few steps as well, but the angry look in his eyes refused to leave.

"All right, Wallace. _Fine_. We'll talk about this tomorrow night, after I get back from the Ball. Don't try any funny business until then, okay?"

One wordless, tearful nod from her, and then he'd gone back out the same way he came in. He'd left long before she had a chance to tell him the truth, and so relieve any bad feelings that came from her actions. That kiss had been for his sake as well as her own. And if Amber turned him away permanently tomorrow night, who, then, would he want to take her place?


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note:** It's been a while since I updated, what with writer's block and a now-dead old laptop…but now that I can do such things again, I hope very much to get back into the habit. Thank you all for your patience, and now…back to work!

Coming and Going

_Calm down, you crazy bitch,_ Amber told herself, smoothing the skirt of her gown for what must have been the hundredth time. _He said that he would show up tonight, didn't he? He said he would be here, and he sent that R.S.V.P. card back in, and he just about swore that he would arrive on time. What, then, is there to get freaked out about?_

She'd already put on that white dress with the black pattern, the matching wrap, and both of her black gloves, as well as a comfortable pair of black shoes and her black feathered mask for the evening's Masquerade. She had also made sure that an assistant bought her a wig of dark hair in which a mass of curls were arranged neatly at the top, which she had placed carefully over her damaged hair a moment ago. Her first appearance of the night was mere minutes away, and already she felt some anxiety start to set in. What if she tripped over her own feet, and ended up hurting the baby as well as herself?

She would just have to walk slowly, and keep an eye out for any unwelcome objects that might cause her to fall.

Well, what if some of the guests encouraged her to try the New Year's champagne, and she ended up drinking so much that the baby ended up born with fetal alcohol syndrome?

She could always go with some grape juice, which would undoubtedly be served alongside the champagne for any underage guests attending the party with their parents or guardians. What else would be offered to those invited orphans?

_What if Graverobber didn't come?_

Her thoughts froze for a minute as she checked herself in the mirror one last time, still almost not believing that she could ever have looked so composed, so complete as she did now. Last night, she had almost fallen back into old habits, and asked a few SurGENS to bring her a new face as fast as they could. There came that old fear that no one would approve of her if she didn't look her absolute best, and until she remembered who she would meet in five more months, she had very nearly backslid.

Thank goodness some kind of instinct had activated itself in time; otherwise she might have made a mistake a few hours later that she would have regretted forever. Instead, she had forced all those unhealthy thoughts from her mind, and protectively held that small bulge until the frightening images of miscarriage and a relapse back into addiction finally faded away.

_What if something happened to him before he'd reached the mansion?_

She'd already decided on the name Giovanna in case the baby turned out to be a girl. That had been her mother's name once upon a time, and so it was only fair that she passed the name along somehow. All she would have to do now was come up with the right middle name, and from there decide whether or not she would label her a Sweet or a Largo.

She wasn't so sure about boys' names yet, though. So far, she only had three examples to go on, and each one carried its own twisted history. Could she attach a possible violent future to her unborn child by naming them after her oldest brother? Would he be flattered enough to teach a possible son of hers how to use a knife properly, or would he be too disgusted by her choice to want anything to do with him?

Moreover, could she risk a second lover and defiler of women in the household if she decided to turn her baby into her second-oldest brother's namesake? As loyal as he tried to be sometimes, there were other times in which she wondered if a visit to a shrink would be the right thing for Pavi. How would either of them react when they saw him try to flirt with a GENtern, let alone sneak a hand down her blouse?

And last but not least…there was _always_ the idea of naming him—if it even was a him—after her dearly departed Dad. That alone could either be considered as a compliment to his legacy, or a sharp, insulting stab at his memory. He had once accused her of not being worthy of him, of course. The way he'd roared at her that last time they had spoken, one might have thought she'd turned into some unruly puppy that'd pissed on the Pergo floor, and not his only living daughter at all.

Wouldn't it be just a _shame_, then, if she finally decided on giving _his_ name to her 'little bastard'…? He would have undoubtedly labeled the baby as such if he had not died so suddenly. What better way to give him the finger than associate his image with that of his own grandson?

It was too bad that she knew nothing of Grim's parentage or ancestry. If she had, she might have been able to pick a proper name out of a list, and quietly hope to herself that any kids on the playground wouldn't laugh about it later.

_Would Grim even be there, or had she gotten dressed up for absolutely nothing?_

"That's enough, stupid," she whispered to her reflection in the mirror. "That's _more_ than enough. He promised to be here tonight, didn't he? Do something right for once, and trust him, okay…?"

"Miss Sweet?"

A rather excitable GENtern had just stuck her blond head through the courtyard doors; and then made the gesture of one hand pointing to an imaginary watch on the other wrist.

"Miss Sweet, uh…I think it's time!"

"It's _time_," Amber told her mirror-self, reaching towards a nearby table to add the finishing touch to her wardrobe. Along with the completed R.S.V.P. card he'd returned to her, he'd sent a black velvet band with a single silver butterfly at its middle for her to wear around her neck. That would be his way to spot her in the crowd as surely as she'd chosen his mask for the same purpose, and in due course, hopefully they would find each other before this night was through. They would have many things to talk about soon, and she would have to make sure they had the right amount of time to do so.

With one last, deep breath for confidence, Amber Sweet, the head of GeneCo and mother-to-be, pushed the courtyard doors open to a blinding series of flashing camera lights.

***

_Dear Graverobber, Norm, and Steve…_

It was the one message she'd hoped never to write, and the one she was now forcing herself to say out loud so that she could get the right words down on paper before she had to vanish again.

…_I'm sorry I couldn't have told you this face-to-face like a decent, grown-up person would, and I'm so very sorry I broke the ship rule by running away, but with events being what they are now, I couldn't put you through any trouble over me or because of me…_

Because she wouldn't be coming to the Charity Ball tonight, she knew that people would gossip and chatter just as easily as they had after the Genetic Opera, and that just about all of that gossip would be about where she had wandered off to. Moreover, it was just as likely that someone would go looking for her on their own time, and so perhaps even refuse to stop looking until they'd discovered where she'd been hiding for so long. And if they insisted on producing her for everyone at GeneCo to see for themselves, it could quickly mean the end for other people besides herself.

…_By the time you read this, I hope to have found a safe place somewhere on this island. I figure there's got to be at least one person out there who also didn't like everything Rotti Largo had done; who also felt bad for Mag's loss; and who also started questioning all that they saw and heard after watching innocents die. If there is one person left out there who thinks that way, anyone at all, I hope they have room in their homes for me, and that they don't have a delinquent notice to their name, either…_

She would have to take her chances just the same, though. All three of these men had willingly cared for her and taught her the ways of survival, and for that, she would have to remove the threat to their lives even if it meant never seeing them again. She would also have to make herself forget all the things she had said to Grim before, and so do her best to put the one thing she had tried to do with him behind her forever. That way, if someone did end up finding her and bringing her before GeneCo, none of them would be harmed for their part in hiding her.

…_Please try to find it in your heart to forgive me all of my mistakes. I was wrong to beg for something that wasn't freely offered to me. I guess that's the bad side of being a shut-in for pretty much my entire life, isn't it? I'm terrible at separating words from feelings, and I know I've got a whole lot more to learn about people in general. _

_Maybe I can work this out while I spend as much time as I need in the world out there, as well as learning everything else I possibly can learn about it. I just hope the rest of you understand how much I'll miss you while I'm out there, and how much I wish I could have stayed a bit longer and gotten to know you better. _

_If we never see each other again, please remember this one thing for me—__keep each other safe!_

_Your friend,_

_Shilo Anne Wallace_

She left the letter folded up beneath the statue of Holy Death, a place she hoped that Graverobber and the others would be sure to see it. After that, it was a short, silent walk to get her packed travel bag, and then through the door and across the docks to the nearest available road inland. Unfortunately, she had only made it halfway down the gangplank before the urge to turn back around and go back into the ship struck her like a stab wound.

"I can't do this."

She had lived with these men for barely four months, and she still knew next to nothing about where any of them had come from or where they planned to lead her. If Dad had been standing there, he would have told her to leave _immediately_, and not put herself into any more danger by conversing or associating herself with complete strangers. The risk to her own person was much too high, and how would she be able to change the world if she could not even look after herself?

On the other hand…what would Graverobber think of her once he found out she'd ran away, disappearing back into the shadows she'd come to know so well? What would he say when he found out that she'd given up on the life he'd tried to give her, and instead gone in search of one that no longer existed? And most importantly, how would she apologize to him like she'd wanted to if she was no longer by his side?

"I can't _do_ this yet. I _can't_ leave. Maybe…maybe I can stay for just a little bit longer. Maybe I can still fix this…"

_Shilo, this is senseless…_

"Senseless?"

Her father's voice had spoken up for the third time inside her mind, only this time, she wasn't so willing to back down and give in.

"You think there's no sense in staying behind and helping my new friends? What do you know about friendship? What do _you_ know about protecting the people you care about?"

Shilo felt a slight tightening inside her chest, but she bravely thought about other things to keep that one feeling from taking her over.

"The only thing _you'd_ do for them is lock them away in some basement and _never_ let them see the sunshine! How does that make any more sense than not abandoning or forgetting about them entirely?"

_Shilo, this is pointless…_

"Yeah, Dad, it _is_ pointless. It always was pointless for me to argue with you, because you'd already made up your mind without asking what I had on mine…"

Her voice trailed off as her mind made the connection between her father and the one other man who had ever tried to do something good for her. They had always claimed to have the best of intentions; but in the end, they'd both left her completely defenseless, and at the same time expected her to fend for herself somehow.

"Guess that's something you and Grim have in common, don't you?"

_Whoever might be waiting out there for me now_, Shilo hoped_, they'd better be a woman for once. I won't make the same mistake again that I did with all three of them. This time, I'll do the right thing and stay with my own gender._

It was easier to leave the ship behind once she had kept this thought replaying again and again, not just in her mind but also under her breath as she walked. She had chosen a longer black dress for this occasion as well as the safety of her gas mask, for only one person had ever seen her wear it in her lifetime, and she was more than sure he had not told anyone of it right before his death. Any Z junkie or other human creature of the night would easily dismiss her as some random loon that way, and not give her a second look as they sought out their entertainment of the evening. All the better to survive with, my _dear_.

Shilo hummed a few bars of 'Chromaggia' as she left the wooden uneasiness of the docks and transferred her weight to the steady support of concrete. Thank goodness that no one else was in sight, or else she might have had to go a different way other than planned. Thank goodness, also, that she had the sound of her own black heels to go by, and not be startled by yowling alley cats in the shadows, broke scalpel sluts begging for a fix, or the occasional argument going on in an upper-story window. One of those might have weakened her resolve to leave or worse, sent her running back to the ship and slamming the doors behind her.

Then again…maybe sudden noises wouldn't make her that frightened as she had once been. Maybe she could answer the unexpected barking dog or falling flower pot with a laugh, a few muttered words, and the like. Maybe she could be a bit stronger now than she had thought herself to be before, and so make it through the streets without the single chill to her spine. If she could manage this; then she could continue on from there to the nearest bus station, and maybe, just maybe, find her way off of this island without any problems…or, for that matter, any second thoughts.

Then came the telltale scream; the sound of running feet; and the steady walk of the unseen monster that followed them, and suddenly, Shilo's way out started feeling like the way in to something twice as worse as her own capture. In an instant, she found herself digging inside her pockets for money as though she were the victim, coming up with nothing but dust and empty air. She could not toss any magical wads of cash at the Repo Man, or hope to save that nameless, faceless victim as some beautiful actresses claimed would happen in their films and television shows.

On the other hand…could she find something to use against them? Could she try to knock them unconscious as easily as she'd done to her father all those months ago?

She took a quick look around her in the hopes of finding a shovel, pickaxe, or other blunt object perfect for a fast blow to the head, only to be no more successful than she'd been in finding emergency money. The screaming continued as she'd searched, only to grow louder as both hunter and prey drew closer. What would the victim do if he or she managed to find her standing here? Tell her to help them run away? Order her to get the hell out of there before the Repo Man spotted her, too? Fall to their knees and beg for a miracle?

By then, her pulse was going twice as fast as normal, and her palms were damp with sweat. The Repo Man would get ideas if he saw her here as well, and all of them would end with her own death. She would have to run to save herself, and hope the masked killer did not see her escape lest he return for another try. She would also have to leave that person to their death, merely to protect Dad's idea of her changing the world for him. Why, oh why could she not flip a coin and have a bit more time to make a decision…?

_Shilo, go…_

"I can't. I can't do it, Dad, I can't…"

Tears blinded her eyes as she heard the victim's pleas for mercy. They must have been up against the wall now, for she could swear she heard the slight shink of a blade being pulled from a sheath.

_...Shilo…_

"…Dad, I have to try! I can't let them die…"

…_Go and change the world for me..._

Shilo went. She went as soon as the victim gave a loud, painful shriek that turned into a gurgle, and right before the sounds of breaking bones and slicing blades destroyed the silence. She went without stopping or looking back, for fear told her that the Repo Man would be there the moment she turned around, his blade dripping with blood and his free gloved hand reaching for her throat. She went without taking a good look around until she saw a familiar sign indicating a bus stop, and as soon as she'd reached it, only then could she take several deep breaths and follow the rest of the passengers inside the bus, taking a seat somewhere near the back.

It wasn't until after she'd caught her breath and raised her head that she noticed something important. The Trade Master had taken the seat directly beside her own.


End file.
